


Coffee and Cigarettes

by MissFaber



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 49,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFaber/pseuds/MissFaber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's getting married, and a frantic Merlin has three days to remind him who it is he really loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first serious Merthur story. This is an AU, set in present day- I was watching My Best Friend's Wedding for the millionth time and imagining Merthur in its stead, and this story happened. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Merthur is just- omg, they render me speechless.
> 
> Now that I've gushed, please realize that this story wasn't beta'd or brit-picked, so I apologize for any incorrect terminology. Also, this story was titled after Michelle Featherstone's song, which was somehow fitting.
> 
> Reviews make me happy. So review. :)
> 
> Onwards!

 

**Coffee and Cigarettes**

** **

_Part 1_

_[I must quit you. ]_

In retrospect, Merlin sees that he should have realized that something went horribly wrong when Morgana cancelled on their long-standing dinner appointment and sent Gwen in her stead.

Not that it is unusual for Morgana to cancel- while it isn't exactly commonplace, Morgana has a busy and unpredictable social life. But since she usually chooses the time and place for their once-a-month dinner appointments, assuring that they are convenient for her and assuming they are convenient for Merlin, she almost always shows up. Still, emergencies happen, and so Merlin dismisses Morgana's succint text without much thought, grateful to have  _some_  company so as not to be reduced to Chinese takeout again.

At half-past seven, dressed in a crisp navy shirt and dark slacks- Morgana doesn't choose restaurants where one can wander in with jeans- Merlin makes his appearance. He is led to the wine room- predictably- and there is Gwen, her back to him, alternately buttering and munching on bread. Surely, Merlin should have taken notice of  _that_ \- it is common knowledge that Gwen only gorges on bread when she is very, very nervous. But Merlin's head is still suffering the after-effects of an especially excruciating exam, as well as a mind-boggling voicemail -

( _"Well, Merlin Emrys, would you say you were averaging thirty days to return a call?"_ )

\- he only just recieved; and so this, too, goes unnoticed by him.

Merlin approaches the clueless Gwen, who looks rather lovely in a cream colored dress a few shades lighter than her skin. He leans forward and whispers in her ear: "Did you dress up for me?"

"Merlin!" Gwen gives a start, then turns and smiles and stands, abandoning her bread and extending her arms. "It's been a while, you prat."

Merlin rolls his eyes and steps into her embrace. "Two weeks, Gwen! Don't exaggerate."

"Well, yes, I suppose you're right- medical school can't be easy." Gwen seems to sense his mental distress and her hand pats his cheek. "How're you doing?"

"Let's not talk about school right now," says Merlin, quickly leading her to her seat. "I haven't had a break in... well, since the last time I saw you."

Gwen winces. "Poor dear."

"Indeed," says Merlin, reveling in the sympathy. "I'm famished. Let's order."

A few minutes later, they sit sipping their wine and talking and laughing- although Merlin does most of the talking, for Gwen is gorging on bread and trying her hardest to look attentive. Merlin, starved from human contact since exams started a few weeks prior, is content to speak enough for the both of them. But then the bread basket is emptied, and Gwen asks for another, and Merlin has single-handedly burned through a handful of topics.

"How's Lance, then?" Merlin asks, lifting his wine glass.

"Oh- fine," Gwen answers, her face lighting up, her finger absentmindedly fingering her wedding band, as she always does when her husband turns up in a conversation. Merlin notices this and smiles. "We're wonderful, really. Nothing new, though."

"Good," Merlin says, and when  _he_  reaches for the freshly served bread plate and begins to butter a slice, Gwen's eyes narrow in suspicion.

"What is it?" Gwen demands.

"What?" Merlin keeps his eyes trained on the bread, though a smile starts to tug at his mouth.

"Well- whatever it is you've got to tell me, you pillock!" She reaches across the table and slaps his arm. "Is it- I mean..." And her eyes are bright and eager and hopeful, and that can only mean one thing.

"It's nothing major," Merlin says, and Gwen raises a brow, disbelieving. "It's just a voicemail I got today. From Arthur."

Gwen's face falls, and Merlin can't understand for the life of him why.

"What is it?" Merlin demands, feeling anger begin to swell inside him.

"It's nothing," says Gwen, and now she is the one avoiding his gaze. "I don't know. I mean, it's over between you, Merlin. I was hoping..."

"I know it's over," says Merlin hotly. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think  _I've_  recieved the memo?"

"Calm down, Merlin," says Gwen, her eyes cool. "I only mean that's it's been over between the two of you for years, and I was hoping you'd moved on. Found someone else."

"I  _have_  moved on," Merlin states, his voice a little too loud and his hands moving too quickly. "I don't need someone else to do that. I'm too busy to be with someone, anyway. I don't have time."

And it is bitter, somehow, to say these words aloud-  _too busy to be with someone, don't have time_ \- because they are a feeble defense, and yet they are the problem in the first place, and he remembers saying those words to Arthur as they sat at the foot of their bed, hands clasped together while making decisions that were too big for them.

"I know," says Gwen, and her voice is small. "I'm sorry."

The swell of anger within Merlin quickly deflates. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up like that. I just didn't... I mean, it's good what we have, right?" His smile begs for confirmation of this thought, and Gwen is not hard-hearted enough to deny him. "How many ex-es do you know actually stay friends?"

"Not many," answers Gwen, truthfully, and bites back the rest of the statement:  _for a reason_. "You're right. What you and Arthur have definitely is... special."

Merlin lets the topic rest as their plates arrive, and he does not notice Gwen reach for the bread in the center of the table as though it is her salvation.

"So." Gwen swallows a thick mouthful of bread and chases it with wine. Her tone is uncertain, as though she isn't sure if she should ask. "The voicemail?"

"Right," says Merlin, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the memory of it. "It was typical- he's in another city, calling at some ungodly hour, telling me about a bunch of things that I really didn't need to know. Thing is, he said to call back, and he... sounded  _desperate_  to talk to me."

"Desperate to talk?" Gwen shifts in her chair, averts her eyes.

"Yeah... but that's nothing unusual. I am his best friend, after all."

"Yeah," Gwen mumbls, watching Merlin, and wondering when the whole exquisite tragedy of the thing will finally be over.

"Thing is, I remembered something." And here, Merlin flushes. "Arthur mentioned once that we'd go to Ireland together for my twenty-sixth birthday. He was pretty adamant about it. I figured he'd forgotten, but... I'm turning twenty six in two weeks."

And his face is so bright, then, his cheeks rosy and his eyes downcast as though recalling something sacred and private and  _exquisite_ , something that he really wants but is too shy to ask for, like a child asking his parents for a particularly expensive Christmas present.

"Oh, fuck," says Gwen, startling Merlin into looking at her. She stands and wrings her hands, exasperated. "Fuck. I can't. Merlin, listen- call Arthur. Call him right away. And then call me, alright? Lance is working late tonight, so feel free to come over."

Merlin stares at her, gaping slightly.

"Well, you could come over anyway, with or without Lance... I don't know why I said that. And by the way, I don't agree with all this- the way Arthur chose to do it, and then me... _damn you_ , Morgana. Listen." And here she clasps his forearm and forces his gaze to hers, and Merlin swallows at the intensity he finds there. "It'll be alright."

It is moments after Gwen walks out of the wine room, her final, sympathetic glance imprinted in his mind's eye, when Merlin notices that Gwen hasn't touched her food.

* * *

"Well, Merlin Emrys, would you say you were averaging thirty days to return a call?"

There is a slight, exasperated sigh, then a silence where Merlin can almost  _hear_  Arthur frowning, then a short bark of laughter, because the pompous git always laughs at his own jokes.

"Anyway, it's... I don't know, three in the morning or something... I'm in Madrid, by the way. Did you know? If you'd  _respond_  to any of my messages, then I'd know you know." Again, that frustrated sound, which is always exaggerated because Arthur likes to fancy himself frustrated with Merlin, even when he isn't.

"Regardless. I've been trying to get ahold of you because there's something of vital importance that I must discuss with you." Here, a surprised chuckle. "That sounds dramatic, but it kind of  _is_  fucking important, and it involves you.. so call me when you can, alright? Stop being a pillock and avoiding my calls. Idiot."

Merlin lays his phone on the bed and settles himself beside it, boneless. His finger hovers over the screen of his phone, tempted to replay the message; but he already memorized it, and replaying it would be pointless, anyway, because he is already repeating it in his mind.

He was sure the "thing of vital importance" that involved Merlin also involved Ireland; it all fit together, his upcoming birthday and Arthur's sudden urgency. Surely Arthur's sole worry is to get Merlin's approval before it became too late to get tickets. Merlin remembers with the utmost clarity that night in-

( _"Where would you like to go?" Arthur's breath, warm against his neck. "What's your favorite place?"_ )

-Moscow, during the winter break of his third year at uni, in which they practiced the life they had planned out for themselves. They were sitting in a small pub, freezing their arses off despite being wrapped in a blanket, when Arthur-

( _"Where? Tell me."_ )

-asked. And Merlin answered, and Arthur swore that he'd take him there for his twenty-sixth birthday, because Arthur was turning twenty six that year, and Merlin teased him by saying that he wouldn't remember, and it was only typical of Arthur to prove him wrong.

But Gwen's behavior at the restaurant burst this happy bubble of an idea. She seemed to  _know_  what Arthur was calling about, and she wasn't happy about it. Merlin tries to hazard a guess for why Gwen would be displeased with the Ireland trip, besides the obvious self-destructiveness that is written all over it. And he decides that must be it; Gwen isn't an avid supporter of his unhealthy pining over Arthur, regardless of how much he denies it.

But that can't be it either, because Merlin knows that Gwen loves him, and she knows that this trip to Ireland, with Arthur, would make him insanely happy, and so she'd wish it for him. Of  _course_  she would.

So it has to be something else.

"Fuck," says Merlin, and he presses  _1_  before he can think, and three beats pass before Arthur's voice fills his ears.

"Hello?"

"Up-and-at-'em," Merlin says, his voice a weak strain of wretched nervousness, but then Arthur is laughing and Merlin knows that he-

( _"'Rise and shine?'" Arthur's voice; tinged with the dregs of sleep, strained under the pressure of keeping it steady while Merlin slowly dragged his fingertips, feather-light, up his stomach, the muscles quivering underneath. "Merlin- ah! You need some new material."_ )

-remembers.

" _Merlin_ ," says Arthur, and Merlin's breath hitches at the way Arthur drawls his name. "What's it take to get you to return a call?"

"Sorry," Merlin says, sheepish, and he suddenly can't remember why he held off calling back at all, because Arthur's voice is wonderful, and  _this_  is wonderful, and he doesn't want it to stop.

"Will I have to start calling you Dr. Emrys soon?"

"In a couple months, sure." Merlin's face hurts from smiling.

"School must be going well, then."

"Yeah, yeah." But he doesn't want to discuss school, because he loves the lilt of Arthur's voice just now and he can't guarantee Arthur won't get sullen or even angry if they continue to pursue the topic. "And how's the writing going?"

"Fucking fantastic," says Arthur, tone pompous and self-assured, and it occurs to Merlin that Arthur is probably happy. Legitimately happy. He has everything he ever wanted.

"So..." Merlin's heart beats in his ears. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Right! Yeah, good thing we got the small talk out of the way." Arthur sounds excited, and Merlin feels his body tense, perching at the end of his bed like a bow about to release an arrow.

But suddenly he is scared, agonizingly so, because what if it  _isn't_  Ireland? What if it is something else? Something terrible? And so, although he knows it is pathetic, he cuts Arthur off.

"Wait," says he. "Before you say. Um. Do you, uh, remember... that night in Moscow?"

(  _"I promise I'll take you there, Merlin." Voice suddenly serious, fingertip tilting up his chin. "You don't have to ask twice. Not with me."_ )

Merlin hears Arthur inhale. "Yeah. I remember."

Merlin smiles, and Arthur chuckles deep in his throat, a low sound meant only for Merlin.

"We froze our bums off, didn't we?" says Arthur, and the chuckle is still in his voice. "Moscow in December."

"Yeah." Despite the topic, Merlin feels warm inside. He stands and begins to pace. "Alright. Tell me."

"Alright," says Arthur. "Well. This is pretty exciting. Uh... well, I met someone."

Merlin gapes; and he's suddenly glad that they aren't having this conversation face to face. He struggles to maintain his casual tone of voice, and answers a little too quickly and far too breathlessly: "Really?"

"Yeah," Arthur says, and he is breathless too. "She's amazing. I mean.. I've really never met anyone like her. She's so funny and down-to-earth and creative and kind... God. She's great, Merlin."

Merlin swallows on a dry throat. Arthur goes on, heedless. "She's from a rich family, and you know how I've always felt about that- but, you know, she's made me see how unfair I've been. I mean, I'm always judging people who come from money, calling them vapid tools and pricks and whatnot, and I'm forgetting that  _I_ turned out alright." He paused. "She's got me talking to my father again."

For a reason he can not place, Merlin suddenly feels sure he is going to cry. Only practice ensures that his voice betrays nothing, despite being a bit too thick. "That sounds great. You must be... happy."

"I am. Especially that I'm talking to my father. Everything's good between us now... hell, he's even coming to the wedding."

Merlin's knees buckle and there is a wild second where he is grateful to be standing in front of the bed, except he isn't, and so he falls to the ground in an undignified heap, his flailing arm hitting the night-table and knocking the lamp over on its side.

"Merlin? What's that, you alright?"

"Yeah." It takes all of Merlin's strength to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, fine. Um, just reorganizing the pots and pans in the uh, kitchen. Uh.  _Wedding_?"

"You always did make up the worst excuses," Arthur chuckles. "You're a terrible liar, Merlin. That time when you claimed you were in my bed because you were  _searching for woodworms_..."

And Merlin's mouth falls open, because he can't believe that Arthur-

(  _"I wanted to see you again." Sudden vulnerability, cheekbones tinged with a blush. "I wanted to- to touch you."_ )

-remembers, and he can't believe that he is mentioning it  _now_ , while telling him that he is getting  _married_.

"Wedding?" Merlin repeats, because it's all his throat can manage.

"Yeah," and now Arthur's voice is quiet and mirthless, giving way to a trembling solemnity. "Merlin. I'm getting married on Sunday."

Merlin folds himself and rests his head on his knees, and he reteaches himself how to breathe, and he tries to tell himself that his world i _sn't_ falling apart.

"Wow." He speaks when he feels he can. "That's... sudden."

"I know. Barking mad, isn't it?"

"Yeah," says Merlin, chuckling a little breathlessly because he is glad Arthur thinks so. It  _is_  barking mad. "I mean, marriage... that's big, I mean, isn't it soon?"

"No." And just like that, Arthur is angry, all bristles and self-righteousness. "Just because you just heard about it, Merlin, doesn't mean  _I_ haven't thought about it for a while."

Merlin nods, then remembers that Arthur can't see him and uses his words. "Right."

His voice breaks off unevenly, and Arthur apparently picks up on it because his voice softens. "Listen. I need you to fly in tomorrow. Everyone's coming in Friday or Saturday, but I need you here earlier, because I just can't do it without you."

Merlin bites his lip, and doesn't trust himself to speak.

"Come on, Merlin." Arthur's voice is both entreating and presumptuous, in a way only he can manage. "This is huge. And I'm scared. I'm fucking scared."

For a moment, all they could hear is breathing. Then: "Please, Merlin. I need you to hold my hand through this."

Merlin knows what he is going to say, because there isn't any other option, no other tangible reality he can see unfolding; although he tries to tell himself that he does it because Arthur begged, and because he is a true friend.

"Alright. I'll come."

* * *

"I can't believe you  _knew_ and you didn't tell me!"

Merlin stands in the middle of his living room, arms planted at his hips, glaring down at the guilty troupe on his couch. Earlier, while he was replaying Arthur's voicemail and wondering as to what it meant- Merlin thinks he'll forever refer to the period as  _Blissful Ignorance_ \- he was also screening Gwen's calls. Apparently, she grew worried when he ignored her calls one too many times, and she pushed Lance into her car and drove over. Morgana had somehow tagged along- Merlin isn't clear on the details.

Now, Gwen's eyebrows are drawn together in distress, Lance is looking at him with an expression of immaculate pity, and Morgana is staring at the wall with slightly bulging eyes that suggested extreme anger.

Merlin nearly trembles with suppressed emotion. He licks his lips and tries again. "I can't believe it."

"I'm sorry, Merlin!" Gwen's wrung her hands in her lap, Lance reaching over to cover her hands with his.

"We  _are_  sorry, mate," Lance echoes. "We definitely wanted to tell you. But we thought it would be best if it came from Arthur."

Merlin huffs. "Morgana? What's your excuse?"

After a pointed moment, Morgana turns her gaze to Merlin. "I didn't quite feel like talking about a subject that was so distasteful to me."

"Wait." Merlin blinks. "You mean- you don't, like- approve?"

"Of course I don't!" Morgana snaps. "Meeting some picture-perfect girl in  _Spain_  and proposing right away and tucking himself into her picture-perfect life and picture-perfect family so as to hide from his own insecurities and fucked up life, the  _idiot_. I mean, doesn't he know that it won't work? Doesn't he know what a mis _take_  he's making?"

Gwen winces. Lance doesn't look at all surprised. But, surprisingly enough, Merlin feels the muscles in his body relax; he finds Morgana's tirade refreshing.

"Yeah." Merlin runs a hand through his crop of black hair, and suddenly he needs to sit, and somehow Lance knows and fetches him a chair. He settles into it slowly. "Yeah. A mistake."

Now Morgana's eyes are just as sympathetic as Lance's. "Shit. I shouldn't have said all that. Are you alright, love?"

"No." Merlin chuckles at the inaccuracy of the thought, of him being  _alright_ , of being anything remotely close. "Oh, fuck. Arthur's getting married."

He bends over and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to stem the desperation that swells there. He is vaguely conscious of someone rubbing soothing circles into his shoulders, but it feels far away, because Arthur is getting  _married_ \- married married married married  _married_.

"I have never been so disgusted with a word," he mumbles, and he pulls his hands away from his eyes and blinks, and Gwen, bending over him, looks like she, too, is on the verge of tears.

"It'll be fine, Merlin," she soothes, but to Merlin the words are empty. "You'll find someone else, just like he did. It'll pass. It'll be fine."

"I'm flying over there tomorrow," is all Merlin thinks to say. "He wants me there early. He- he says that he can't do it without me. He says that he wants me to  _hold his hand_  through it."

" _God_ ," Morgana spits, and Lance shakes his head with vague disapproval.

"Yeah." Merlin laughs wryly. "I mean, why doesn't he just put a gun to my head? It'll be faster."

"You shouldn't go," Gwen says, but weakly and without much conviction, because even as she says it she knows that Merlin already made up his mind to go. After all, Arthur needs him, and when Arthur needs him nothing else is nearly as important- not even his own happiness, nor his own sanity.

"He's going," Morgana says dismissively, stating what they are all thinking. "But you know what you've got to do, right?"

And then Morgana looks at him, lifting a perfectly shaped brow pointedly, and Merlin reads it in her eyes.

"Yeah." And then it all becomes obvious, and all the anger and sadness lifts, and his eyes light up at the clarity he attained. "I've got to show Arthur that he's making a mistake. I've got to remind him who he  _really_  loves."

" _No_." Gwen covers her hands with her mouth, horrified. "No, Merlin,  _don't_."

"Not your best idea, Merlin." Lance shakes his head. "That's... it's unfair what Arthur did to you and all, and maybe he's making a mistake, but if he is, he should figure that out himself."

But Merlin isn't listening, because the idea has already planted itself in his head- and Merlin is unshakable when he decides on a course of action. This is the solution, surely. Arthur still loves him. Merlin knows that, and not in a self-deluded sort of way. If Arthur doesn't love him, he won't have constantly called over the years at the ungodliest of hours, voice brimming with eagerness to tell him of the highlights of his day. He won't have called Merlin every time he had a spectacular meal. Distance would have pushed them apart, and it hasn't- so yes, maybe Arthur is making a mistake, and Merlin doesn't know why, but he will find out why and put an end to it.

As though sensing his thoughts, Morgana grins approvingly at him, earning herself a glare from Gwen.

"I'm coming with you," Morgana declares. "I was going to show up on Saturday night- maybe even Sunday morning, just to spite Arthur- but if we're doing this, then I definitely want to go early. That is... if you'll have me."

Morgana lets the statement hang in the air, but Merlin quickly nods his approval. Already the entire venture seemed less daunting with the thought of Morgana's company; ironically enough.

"Don't break up an engaged couple!" Gwen pleads. "It's- it's cruel, Merlin!"

"Gwen." Merlin looks up at her, and Gwen stops short when she catches the expression in his eyes. "Don't you think that we should be together? You... you used to think so."

Gwen says nothing, looking down guiltily. Merlin continues. "You think that it's only me who's pining over him, but you haven't been as close to him as I have these past few years. You haven't talked to him like I did. You didn't see that he wasn't able to move on, either. You didn't hear him mention things that used to happen when we were together, and remember them perfectly, and throw them into the conversation as though it was the most natural thing in the world because he thought about it  _all the time_ , and... you didn't see that he didn't have a single serious relationship since we broke it off. And yeah, maybe he's got one now- but maybe that's only because I've waited too long, I've been too proud to tell him that I made a stupid decision when I was twenty-two years old. But this is my chance, and I've got to tell him, because in a few days it'll be too late."

Merlin takes a deep breath when he's finished, then ducks his head, cheeks flaming with his sudden confession. When nobody says anything and it is inevitable for him to look up, he sees that Gwen's eyes are sparkling with tears and her hands are clasped over her chest.

"Alright." When Gwen finally speaks, it is as though in defeat. "Alright. God. I don't agree, but... I can't say anything to that."

"Just give me your blessing, Gwen Smith," Merlin says, feeling the edge of a smile tug at his mouth, and Gwen moves forward and hugs him.

"God." Her eyes seem to melt, and she reaches up and cups his cheek. "I hope nobody gets hurt."

Merlin tries to smile reassuringly and find that he can't, and Gwen nods because she understands, and then she and Lance are moving for the door.

"Call me, alright?" Merlin nods mutely at Gwen's request. "Lance, I'll be in the car..."

The door shuts loudly after Gwen, and Lance squeezes Merlin's shoulder and looks him in the eye. "I don't doubt what you're doing, alright? Although it's wrong, I know how you feel about Arthur. And I believe you when you say he feels the same way about you."

Now Merlin smiles, because that sort of trust, coming from Lance, means a lot. "Thanks."

"Just be careful," Lance says, his dark eyes even more solemn than usual. "And remember, we'll be there Saturday. If you need anything till then... call me."

"Thank you." Merlin is suddenly flushed with gratitude at Lancelot's reliability, Gwen's sympathy, Morgana's support. He knows without a doubt that he can count on Lance in a tight spot, and that Lance would do everything in his power for him. Gwen, whose very nature protests against what Merlin intends to do, still wanted what would make him happy. And Morgana- Morgana, the crazy bitch, is going to help him get Arthur back.

"Morgana?" Lance is saying. "Need a lift home?"

"I'll take a cab, thanks."

Lance nods and gives Merlin's shoulder a final squeeze, and then it is just Merlin and Morgana in the apartment.

"Come on, Emrys," calls Morgana, and Merlin notices with slight alarm that she is moving towards the bedroom.

"Uh. What are you doing?"

She notices his expression and grins wickedly. "Helping you pack, of course."

Somehow, this does not reassure Merlin.

"What? As though I'd let you pack yourself? You may be gay, Merlin, but you're not nearly as fabulous as me." Morgana plants her hands on her hips."No. We're going into battle."

* * *

Merlin is itching for the drag of a cigarrette as he disembarks the plane. Smoking isn't a habit he often indulges in, but he considers today very much an exception. He hardly slept the night before- watching Morgana examine, criticize, and eventually stuff an obscene number of clothes into a suitcase gave him an incurable migraine. Then he was left alone, and he realized the worth of distraction, and there was no hope for sleep.

When he met Morgana in the airport, he was both immensely glad to see her- considering how detrimental his own company was- and incredibly annoyed at how  _impeccable_  she looked. She was dressed mainly in emerald, a long cardigan that stuck to her form with a scarf and a purse and numerous accessories to match. The picture of loveliness, from the delicate gold earrings to the heeled boots, and Merlin thought it was quite unfair, considering she left his flat around two in the morning and still had to pack the two large suitcases that stood beside her. Her makeup was full and fresh, and she pursed her ruby-red lips as her eyes turned over Merlin behind her sunglasses.

Merlin squirmed under her scrutiny. He was wearing dark jeans, very much frayed at the feet-

_("You've scuffed them," said Arthur, incredulous gaze on the feet of the jeans Merlin had bought only the week before. "What did you do to 'em, drag 'em through the mud? Idiot." And Arthur's full mouth was curving suggestively, and said jeans already felt too tight. "At this point, I think they'd look better off than on...")_

\- and a navy blue shirt underneath his signature dark tan jacket and, of course, the scarlet neckerchief.

"Did you have to wear the neckerchief?" Morgana winced.

"I doubt he'd recognize me without it," Merlin mumbled, moving ahead before Morgana could pursue the line of questioning.

On the plane, Morgana spent a good half hour attempting to drag Merlin into a conversation about how they would go about convincing Arthur that Merlin was the one for him.

"Come on, Merlin," she kept saying. "We need to formulate a plan of attack."

And that was just one of her many catch-phrases. Others were "casual proximity", "suggestive movements," "nocturnal walks", "an abundance of whipped cream", "professional hypnosis", and her personal favorite: "unprecedented nudity."

When Merlin's lack of response began to irritate and then bore Morgana, she sought company in the many magazines stashed in her purse. Merlin thought he would revel in the silence, but he found it just as oppressive; all he could think of was how Arthur was getting  _married_ , and how close all of it was, suddenly, with him coasting on a plane.

And now Merlin lounges by the conveyor belt as he watches Morgana talk to a few men in rapid Spanish, trying to get their bags delivered to their hotel, and Merlin coasts on a whole other line of worry. He thinks about how he hasn't seen Arthur for a year. Yes, they spoke on the phone, and often- but not so often in the last few months, though that is mostly Merlin's fault. Regardless, a year is a long time, and Merlin finds himself wondering if Arthur changed. Maybe he doesn't dress the same way, walk the same way-

(" _Your arse is always perfectly round when you walk, you know that? Just like a girl's." Mouth falling open in outrage, suppressed sniggers. "I'm serious! You walk with this little sway in your hips, and your arse sticks_ right  _out, right there in my face... perfectly fuckable, though, I've got to say. Maybe if you wore low-waist jeans. That might help."_ )

\- talk the same way. Maybe he doesn't eat the same foods. Maybe he got an obscene haircut. Maybe  _he_  changed, Merlin, and Arthur won't recognize him; that panicky thought lodges disgustingly in his throat, and Merlin tugs at his neckerchief for reassurance.

"All done," Morgana sighs, stopping in front of him. "We can- you know. We can head out, now, where they're waiting for us."

Merlin nods and follows Morgana, his limbs like lead. They walk for an interminable time, and Merlin vaguely wonders how long it would be before the anticipation literally killed him.

"Don't fret."

Merlin stops in his tracks; Morgana didn't even  _turn_. "I'm not  _fretting_ ," he says, incensed.

Now she turns, crossing the few paces to where he stands, pausing for a moment to push her sunglasses into her hair.

"You look wonderful." Morgana smiles in a way that Merlin didn't know she could manage, full of tenderness. "You look just like... you."

Her fingers brush against his neckerchief. Merlin feels a blush creep into his cheeks. "Thank you, Morgana."

"Don't be nervous, love," she says, and Merlin has to swallow the lump of affection he suddenly feels for her. He wanted to thank her, but Arthur is close and he isn't sure he can talk. Morgana seems to already know this because she is walking ahead.

Suddenly, Morgana stops and turns back to look at him. "I've got to go to the loo."

Merlin's eyes automatically narrow into thin points of scrutiny. "No you don't."

Morgana nods, the movement exaggerated. " _Yes_. I do. Why don't you go ahead and meet Arthur, and I'll, uh.. catch up with you in a moment."

Merlin starts to protest, but Morgana is already walking away at a clipped pace. He sighs, though some part of him is grateful for what she did; now when he first sets eyes on Arthur, he'll be alone, and their reactions will be untainted by anything or any _one_  else.

He moves forward, swallowing his heartbeat. The crowd grows thicker with every step he takes. Parents and children and husbands and wives and friends greet each other, and the sounds of reunion fill his ears, making him feel apprehensive. He takes a few more steps and stops, hanging his head and taking a huge gulp of air, and he is just about to turn back and wait for Morgana in front of the women's bathroom because the pressure is just too much and he can't-

_Arthur._

There he is, all golden skin and blue eyes and straight posture, the line of his shoulders proud and bold. He is standing inconspicuously in the midst of the thick crowd, but to Merlin he sticks out like a sore thumb. Merlin stands still for a moment, mouth slightly agape, because  _how_  did he ever miss him?

It's clear that Arthur didn't notice him yet. His eyes ae questing, his head moving from side to side. Merlin suddenly feels something inside him lift, a great weight that was there for years, since Arthur left; and he knows that since then, he wasn't living. Not really.

And then Arthur catches sight of him. Merlin watches his expression change; his lips parting, his eyes widening by the slightest margin, as he takes stock of Merlin for the first time in years. Then he smiles, the corners of his eyes turning up and his endearingly crooked front teeth making their first appearance.

Merlin smiles too. And then he laughs, and so does Arthur, and they stand like that for a moment, separated by leagues of strangers that can't interrupt their connection.

Someone pushes into Merlin from behind, making him stumble, and when Merlin looks up Arthur is laughing harder. Merlin grins, sheepish, his cheeks heating.

They walk towards each other, almost gravitating, but it's too slow for Merlin and so he murmurs "fuck it" and starts to run. Arthur stands still for a moment, his brows lifting, before grinning and starting to run too.

Their momentum picks up and they crash together, unable to stop, and when their chests bump the touch is electric. At least, it is to Merlin; but as they right themselves he studies Arthur's face, and he is grinning easily.

"Merlin," says he, an exhale. Then, more firmly: " _Merlin_. You idiot."

Merlin feels the edges of his mouth tremble. "Clotpole."

And then Arthur looks affected, his casual smile faltering -

( _"You'll always be my clotpole." Sudden giggling, stifled by a pillow. "I'm serious! It's a made-up word, so you're the only clotpole in the world. And you're mine."_ )

\- for a moment before returning in its full glory. "Wow. You haven't changed at all, have you?"

Merlin watches Arthur's eyes fall, roving over him, and he wills himself not to blush under the scrutiny. He sees Arthur's eyes pause at the neck, at his  _throat_ goddamn it, and then Arthur's eyes snap back to his.

"No. You haven't changed at all."

"You have," Merlin blurts out before he can stop himself. He curses his lack of a filter and tries to sound more casual. "I mean. You've cut your hair."

Arthur reaches up to touch at his hair self-consciously. "Well. Yes. I mean, one does cut their hair once every... oh God, don't be stupid."

Merlin is stifling a smile at Arthur's serious response, and now they are both smiling ridiculously, and then Arthur is waving him over and Merlin hesitates, but then walks into the familiar crook of Arthur's arm.

"Here." Arthur's arm remains in contact with the line of Merlin's shoulders for about two seconds, of which Merlin is very acutely aware. He then gestures vaguely with his hand. "My fiance's here. She's over there, waiting for me to find you... she hates crowds."

"Ah." All the familiarity and pulsing joy Merlin found in their reunion immediately evaporates. He racks his brain for an excuse not to meet  _her_  immediately; he needs some time to re-adjust to the idea, at least a minute. "Um. Er. Oh! I ought to wait for Morgana. She was in the loo, probably messing with her makeup, wait I'll text her..."

For a split second, Arthur looks confused. "Oh! Right, Morgana. Odd, I'd forgotten she was coming with you."

Merlin tries not to feel a somewhat jittery validation at that. Arthur goes on. "Alright. You text Morgana, and wait  _right here_. I'll bring her."

Merlin nods, his fingers already flying furiously over the buttons. When he looks up, Arthur happens to turn back, as though checking that Merlin isn't disobeying orders, and he mouths:  _Don't move_. Merlin nods his understanding and watches Arthur walk away; and he is unashamedly pleased to notice that Arthur's arse is as round as ever.

Morgana appears by his side moments later, thankfully before Arthur's fiance's arrival. She tugs on Merlin's arm and begs for details, eyes alight. "How was it?"

"Good. I mean, I can't say much." To be honest, Merlin isn't at all sure what transpired between them.

"What do you mean?" Morgana hisses, obviously exasperated. "Can't you tell if he's still- you know- into you? God, and you're supposed to be intuitive!"

"Morgana, calm down," Merlin whispers, just as viciously, for he caught sight of Arthur's head in the crowd. "We talked for all of five minutes. And let's not forget he's  _engaged_. Anyway. He's coming. And her."

Morgana gives a slight shake of her head, her curls settling automatically over her shoulders in a way that seems artfully engineered instead of accidental. Merlin's eyebrows rise, then he sighs and decides not to pin sense to anything Morgana does.

Arthur appears before them moments later, extending a wary hand to Morgana; but Morgana pulls him towards her and presses a kiss to his cheek.

"Uh. Wow. Great to see you too, Morgana." He leans back and examines her. "You look lovely."

"You sound surprised, prat." Morgana quirks a brow, then searches the horizon behind Arthur's shoulders. "Well. Where is she?"

"Be nice," Arthur warns, and something turns over in Merlin's stomach, because he remembers when Arthur used to sound so protective while talking about him. "She's right here. Um. Darling?"

As though materializing from mist, a girl appears by Arthur's side. No- a  _woman_ , Merlin quickly corrects himself; her small size is deceiving She is ivory and chocolate, her summer dress white against her pale skin, her lustrous hair a deep brown. Her eyes are of the same color, large and doe-like. Her perfect rosebud mouth curves into a smile, and Merlin can immediately tell it is genuine because of the way it reaches her eyes. Suddenly, Merlin feels his gut twist, and he hates himself because he already knows that this is a girl he'd usually like; probably be friends with. And fuck, Merlin can tell already why Arthur has fallen for her, because he can feel the start of it himself.

He needs a cigarette.

"Merlin. Morgana." Arthur's voice is full of pride and grandoise as he spoke, a tone entirely unfitting for an airport, but Arthur gets away with it like he always does. "I'd like to introduce my fiance, Mithian."

Morgana reacts first, for which Merlin is grateful. Her smile is stage-like as she extends her hands to Mithian. "It's wonderful to meet you, Mithian. Arthur's told me so much about you."

Behind Mithian, Arthur's eyes widen in both alarm and warning, but Morgana, of course, ignores him.

"Did he?" Mithian reaches forward and grasps Morgana's hands with her own, seeming not at all fazed- though why should she be? She doesn't know Morgana. "I've heard quite a bit about you too."

Morgana's smile widens. "Oh? Then I think we'll have some fun."

"I'm sure we will." Mithian releases Morgana's hands, and suddenly Merlin has no escape. Determined  _not_ to look the fool, he takes a step forward and extends his hand first.

"Hullo. I'm Merlin." He tries to smile, but even he realizes that he probably looks constipated. "You're, uh, you're even more lovely than Arthur let on."

Mithian seems infinitely pleased at this. She takes his hand and shakes it, firmly, and Merlin is surprised at the strength of her grip. "Oh- thank you, Merlin. That means a lot, coming from you."

Merlin isn't sure what implications are hidden in that statement, but decides to ignore it for the time being. "Right. Nice to meet you."

"I'm so glad to finally meet you both," Mithian gushes, and behind her Arthur looks incredibly relieved, as though he was expecting something to go horribly wrong. Merlin can definitely see where he was coming from. "I mean, Arthur's sister and Arthur's best friend... you're both so important to him, and all I've been hearing is  _Merlin_ this and  _Morgana_ that. Well. Mostly Merlin, I have to admit."

She winks and laughs at that, the sound as clear as a bell, and Morgana pretends to be outraged while Arthur feebly tries to protest, but Merlin barely takes notice of it all.  _Best friend_? Is that all Mithian knows him as? Is that all he is to Arthur?

Arthur seems to notice Merlin's expression; his flow in the conversation falters, his smile falling. "Um. You know what, we should go."

Merlin nods quickly, walking ahead of them, and Morgana rushes forward and falls into step with him. Mithian looks up at Arthur curiously, but Arthur avoids her gaze. As they walk towards the exit, following Merlin and Morgana, Arthur tries to ignore the way Morgana's hand kept rubbing soothing circles on Merlin's forearm.

* * *

On the way to the hotel, nobody talks much. The car is a convertible and the air is light and sweet, and Merlin feels a slight stab of regret that he isn't able to enjoy scenic Spain. He is slightly mollified by taking notice of the fact that Madrid resembles any other city, more or less, excepting the clumps of rosebushes that serve as median barriers on the highway. Merlin never thought he'd ever see such an amount of rosebushes in his life.

In the front seat, Mithian is silent, her face turned to the wind, a slight smile tilting her lips. Her delicate profile is directly facing Merlin, and he tries not to hate her for how lovable she is. But to this Merlin has already acknowledged defeat, because it is not in his nature to hate anyone- especially someone like her, someone who seems honest and sweet, and someone who Arthur so obviously loves.

Arthur, who is driving, glances frequently in the rear-view mirror and tries not to take notice of the fact that Morgana's hand is resting on Merlin's knee.

They arrive at the hotel after a vague block of time, and Merlin barely hears Mithian explain that the wedding will be in Malaga, but that they have time to enjoy the city tonight if they aren't too tired from the trip. Morgana takes one look at Merlin and answers for him, saying that they are indeed tired, and quickly ushers Merlin into the lobby.

Minutes later, the two stand in the balcony of Morgana's room, smoking. Merlin was surprised when Morgana handed him cigarettes, but he realizes that he must get used to the fact that Morgana is quite disturbingly attuned to his needs.

"Uh, Morgana?"

A slow exhale of smoke. "Yes?"

"Do you have extra-sensory perception?"

"Why, yes," says Morgana, with a completely straight face. "Didn't you know?"

Merlin chuckles and drags at his cigarette. "Yeah."

"Good thing I got a smoking room," Morgana says. "Although it's a shame about the tour. I can tell that Mithian is a good host."

Merlin looks at Morgana. "You serious?"

A short bark of laughter. " _No_."

They smoke silently for a few minutes before Morgana speaks again. "Yes, actually. I was serious. She seems like a good host."

Merlin says nothing.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, it's obviously her only redeemable quality."

At that, Merlin laughs, a dry and mirthless sound. "We're fucked."

" _No_. We're not." Morgana drops her cigarette and grinds it with her boot, using her free hands to grasp Merlin's shoulders and turn him towards her. "You're perfectly fine. I  _hate_  her, alright?"

Merlin takes another drag of his cigarette and tries to control the shaking of his hand. "You shouldn't hate her.  _I_ don't."

Morgana gives a snort. "Well  _I_ do. Perfectly lovable people like that disgust me."

"You're pretty good at that self-deceptive shit, Morgana," Merlin commends. "How long does it take until you actually start to believe it?"

Morgana rolls her eyes. "Don't try turning this on me, Merlin. I'm probably one of the least confused people in the entire  _world_."

Merlin chooses to let it go, mourning the loss of his quickly disappearing cigarette. Out of the blue, he materializes a thought. "I wish she wasn't. One of those perfectly lovable people, I mean. This would be so much easier if she was just... a bitch."

Morgana shakes her head. "No, Merlin. Trust me, you wouldn't want a bitch. Take it  _from_  one. If we were dealing with a bitch here, this would be so much harder. She'd be conniving, too. She'd try to keep him. "

Merlin turns to look at her, interested in this theory. Morgana is stroking her chin, thinking. "No, this will be easier. It's always easier with the nice ones. Once she sees how you feel about him, she won't stand a chance. Hell, she might even  _give_  him to you out of pity."

Merlin's cigarette drops from his fingers, falling into the depths of Madrid that lies sprawled beneath them. Morgana's mouth falls open when she realizes what she said.

"Oh." To Merlin, she sounds remorseful, but he can't know for sure because he can't afford to look at her. "Oh no, sweetheart. Look, I didn't mean it. Not like that."

"I think I need some sleep," Merlin states flatly, turning his back and walking through the glass doors, leaving a stricken Morgana behind.

* * *

Hours later, Merlin is flat on his back, staring blankly at the void of the ceiling. He was able to sleep for about two hours, after much tossing and turning and pacing through the tight confines of the room. When he woke up, he tried desperately to return to the realm of sleep, but it wasn't written in the cards and so Merlin had made a small trip to a nearby shop and purchased cigarettes. He smoked through half the pack, and he is now tempted to smoke another, but his mouth tastes like ash and he knows deep down that he isn't much of a smoker, anyway.

On the nighttable, his phone buzzes, clattering against the wood. Merlin's eyes shift to it but he does not budge. He knows for a fact that it's Gwen- she, Lance, and Gwaine had all texted him multiple times, and Gwen had even called. He'd responded to the three of them noncommitally, just to stave off their worry, but he doesn't have much energy or desire to deal with Gwen's fretting at the moment.

His mind is full of nothing and everything, of Arthur and Mithian and Morgana's lips forming the word  _pity_. He groans and tilts his head back. He can see in his mind's eye Gwen's reaction; she'd tut-tut in disapproval, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him up and telling him to change his clothes and to stop wallowing, her hands fisted at her hips and her voice authoritative. Merlin figures he might as well listen to her; it can't get any worse, and the distraction might prove helpful.

Minutes later, he disembarks the elevator and almost bumps into Arthur, and he thinks that he never regretted a decision so much.

"Oh!" Merlin flushes to his toes and curses Imaginary Gwen for doing this to him.

"Merlin. Glad I ran into you, mate." Arthur steps back, allowing Merlin to move out of the elevator. "I was just about to knock on Morgana's door, actually. Mithian's having a bath, but soon as she's done I figured we could all go out for dinner and drinks."

Merlin is vaguely startled at the suggestion of dinner; he assumed that it was near midnight, at  _least_. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds swell."

"Great." Arthur's eyes settle on Merlin, almost considering. "Well. Since you're here, do you want to go for a walk, maybe? Catch up? I can just text Morgana."

Merlin can't think of a way out of it and isn't sure he  _wants_  a way out, and so he finds himself nodding. "Yeah. Let's go."

Arthur smiles and leads the way into the warm night, Merlin trailing slightly behind. They walk in silence for a bit. Merlin can feel Arthur's eyes on him and keeps his gaze to the ground, feeling slightly off-balance.

"You don't look like you got much sleep," Arthur finally says.

Merlin looks up. "I slept for a few hours."

"No, you didn't. How many times do I have to tell you, Merlin?" Arthur sounds fondly exasperated. "You aren't too good at lying. At least not lying to me."

Merlin's stomach flips. "What are you talking about? I did sleep for a- well, for a bit."

Arthur shakes his head, still smiling. "Your eyes don't lie. They look tired."

Merlin hangs his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets, fearing they'll somehow betray him- maybe back Arthur into a wall and kiss him into oblivion. "I am. Tired."

Arthur's expression grows sober. "Oh. Would you rather I call off dinner, then?"

 _Yes_ , Merlin is tempted to say- but underneath the concern in Arthur's eyes,  _concern for me_ , he thinks jubilantly, is dissapointment, as though he really wanted this dinner to happen and is upset at the prospect of its cancellation.

And so Merlin sighs in defeat and forces his shoulders to bob up then down in a shrug. "Nah. I'm not that tired. Dinner sounds good."

"Alright. Good. Mithian was really excited for it- it was her idea."

Merlin exhales, perhaps a bit too loudly. "She seems nice. Mithian."

Arthur quirks a brow. "Nice?"

"A little fucking fantastic, maybe," Merlin relents, his mouth quirking even as something in his chest clenches.

"Yeah. She is." Arthur gets this faraway look in his eye, as though he is looking at something beyond the both of them, and Merlin blinks and steels his nerves because he knows it doesn't involve him. Not at all.

He breathes out shakily and the question escapes him before he can hold it back. "Does she know you're gay?"

Arthur's step falters, and for a wild moment Merlin thinks he'll trip and he starts to reach out, but it's  _Arthur_  and Arthur doesn't trip and sure enough, a second later Arthur has righted his balance. He looks at Merlin with something angry and incredulous in his eyes. " _What_?"

Merlin shrugs, suddenly audacious. "She called me your friend. Does she know you're gay?"

"I'm not gay," Arthur says automatically.

Now Merlin stares at him incredulously, then barks an astounded laugh. "God. What is this, fucking high school? Did you actually just say that you're  _not_  gay?"

Arthur's jaw grows steely in a way Merlin knows, in a way that suggests that Arthur truly means what he's about to say. "I'm not some self-deluded teenager, Merlin. And I'm not a coward either. I know exactly what I am. And I think you do too, but you won't admit it. I've always swung both ways. I mean, do you  _actually_  think I'd marry someone I wasn't sexually attracted to?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "You just said you're not gay. That's self-delusion if I've ever seen it."

Arthur frowns. "I'd say the same thing if you called me straight."

Merlin shakes his head, disbelieving. "Wow."

Arthur flares up again. " _What?_ I don't subscribe to any labels, alright?"

After a moment, Merlin shrugs. "Fine. You still didn't answer my question, though."

" _What_  question?"

Though Merlin knows that Arthur remembers perfectly, he repeats the question anyway. "Does Mithian know?"

Arthur sighs, looking suddenly bone-weary. "She knows about  _you_ , Merlin."

Merlin frowns, suddenly disappointed in himself for making Arthur sound like that. "I'm sorry."

Arthur shrugs. "It's alright. Like I said, you haven't changed."

Merlin swallows and Arthur must have caught the expression in Merlin's eyes, because he immediately punches him in the shoulder and tries to turn the whole thing into a joke. "Yeah. Still the same prating fool."

It comes out sounding like a compliment, and Merlin smiles as he rubs his shoulder. "Sure. Whatever you say, clotpole."

They continue walking and their smiles naturally fade away, and then Arthur asks: "How's school?"

Merlin realizes what he's doing; it's retaliation for mentioning Mithian, for that uncomfortable question. He chooses his next words carefully. "It's just as I expected it to be."

A muscle in Arthur's jaw clenches. But his voice, when he speaks, is carefully light. "I'm glad, Merlin. It's what you've always wanted."

His words are a slap. Merlin pauses in his steps, and Arthur reluctantly turns to look at him, gaze hooded. "That's..." And he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what he  _can_  say, because he forgot how cruel Arthur can be.

Arthur shrugs, the twist of his mouth vicious. "What? I'm happy for you."

"That's...  _wow_. Wow, Arthur. Fucking precious, coming from you."

"Excuse me?"

Merlin clenches his teeth and counts to ten, reminding himself of his end goal. "I'm... let's not do this. We haven't seen each other in a year, and... you're getting married in a few days. I don't want to fight."

For a moment, Arthur seems frozen; then he nods, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing. "Right. I don't, either. I- sorry." He ducks his head, suddenly sheepish.

Merlin feels his mouth stretch into an impossibly wide smile. "Did you just apologize to me? Did you just say you're  _sorry_?"

"Don't be stupid, Merlin," Arthur says, promptly turning and walking away.

* * *

When they reach the hotel, Arthur boards the elevator to fetch Mithian. Merlin settles himself into an armchair, content to wait for his return, but the armchair is just too comfortable and his head lolls back and his eyes are just about to-

"Merlin?"

His head snaps forward too quickly. "Ow! Ah... oh, hey, Mithian."

"I'm sorry!" Mithian's pretty face is scrunched up in concern. "I'm sorry. Were you napping?"

"No." Merlin reaches up to massage the back of his neck. "I was on a walk, with- with Arthur. He just went up to fetch you."

"Oh- well he'll be back in a minute, then." She settles into the armchair beside him, and Merlin watches her cross her dainty feet at the ankle. "I'm glad we have a moment all to ourselves."

"Why?" Merlin asks warily, then realizes how it sounds. "I mean, not that..."

Mithian waves a hand dismissively. "I'd just really like to get to know you. I mean, you're Arthur's best friend, and not only that... you were together for four years. That's a long time- I've never been with anyone that long."

Merlin's brow furrows; he feels both confused and uncomfortable. "Right..."

"In short, you're very important to him. And if I'm to be Arthur's wife, I'd like to know someone who was so... intimate with him." She ducks her head, her cheeks turn rosy. "I'd like to be friends."

Merlin swallows, entirely out of his depth. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Her smile, then, is as bright as the sun. "I'm glad.  _Really_  glad. Now I can go with you tomorrow for your fitting. That is, unless you mind, of course...?"

Inwardly, Merlin sighs and wonders if there's any point in attempting to follow the conversation. "Fitting?"

"Oh. I thought Arthur might've told you. We have a very busy schedule tomorrow- driving up to Malaga, then we'll get you and Morgana fitted for your clothes-"

"I have a tux," Merlin interrupts.

Mithian shrugs, looking suddenly helpless. "I'm sorry, I thought for sure Arthur would've told you. You weren't supposed to bring one, the tuxes are going to be a bit...  _specific_..."

Merlin nods, as though this makes all the sense in the world. Mithian goes on, looking relieved. "Then you get to meet my family and my friends. I'm afraid this is going to be a very strenuous, four-day type of wedding. My parents have a  _ton_  of events lined up."

"Sounds lovely," says Merlin, and Mithian laughs at the obvious sarcasm.

"I'm sorry. I still hope you find it fun. Do you know when the rest of your friends are coming?"

"I'm not sure," Merlin answers truthfully.

Mithian's smile does not waver. "Well. The more the merrier."

"They'll like you."

"I hope so," says Mithian, biting her lip. "And Morgana? Do you think I made a favorable impression on Morgana?"

She looks so vulnerable that Merlin can't say anything except: "She loved you."

Mithian's eyes are shrewd. "It's kind of you to say so, Merlin. But I know Morgana constitutes, um... a tough crowd."

Merlin can't help but chuckle. "Pretty accurate."

" _There_  you are!"

The two turn at Arthur's voice- and Merlin quickly turns back, ears red, knowing he was not the person Arthur was addressing and embarrased at having thought he  _was_. Sure enough, Arthur stops in front of Mithian's chair and extends a hand, helping her out of it. Morgana trails behind, her eyes resting on Merlin and staying there.

Arthur suggests they leave, and Merlin finds himself walking beside Morgana. She grasps his arm as soon as Arthur and Mithian aren't looking, her eyes begging forgiveness.

"Come on," she whispers. "Please."

Merlin holds her gaze for a moment, then lets his lips curve. Morgana answers with a smile of her own, then a relieved laugh, then she leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek.

"You know I'm on your side, Emrys," she whispers as she pulls away.

In that moment, Merlin's gaze happens to drift sideways, and he catches Arthur looking back, at them. Merlin quickly returns his attention to Morgana, telling her he wasn't angry with her, and Morgana seems appeased- and as they board the cab Mithian successfully hailed, all Merlin can think about is Arthur's expression. He talks and laughs and expresses how hungry he is, but fixed in his mind's eye is Arthur- lips pressed together into a thin line, jaw squared, eyes like coal. There was heat in his gaze, stemming from anger or something else that Merlin won't let himself consider. Morgana spouts useless trivia about Spain and Merlin goes over the image of Arthur with a finely toothed comb, wanting to put a name to that thing in Arthur's eyes, and it is only when they pull up in front of the restaurant that it comes to him.

Jealousy.

* * *

Any jealousy, real or imagined, is gone as Merlin tries to stomach his gambas ajillo. Arthur has spent the duration of the dinner fawning over Mithian, trying to hold her hand and pressing random kisses to her jaw and her hairline. He's barely touched his food, and neither has Merlin, because again, he's forgotten how cruel Arthur can be.

" _God_." Morgana's nose wrinkles in disgust when Arthur tries to press a kiss to Mithian's lips just as she tries to spoon some rice into her mouth, and the end result is rather messy. "Will you stop, Arthur? Please. I'm trying to eat."

Arthur glares at Morgana then glances at Mithian, as though expecting to find his fiance offended; but Mithian seems to be on Morgana's side, and she carefully gathers the fallen rice into a pile on the tablecloth. "She's right. You're- you're acting a little strange, Arthur," says Mithian, not unkindly, and Merlin doesn't think she knows how to be unkind.

"Sorry." Arthur looks down, looking so uncharacteristically sheepish, and Merlin feels a sudden stab of affection for him.

Arthur rises sharply from his chair. "Sorry. I'll, uh, go to the loo."

Before Mithian can protest, and Merlin can see that she wanted to, Arthur is halfway across the restaurant. Mithian stares after him, worry written across her face.

"What's with him?" says Morgana.

"I'm not sure," answers Mithian, frowning. "I guess it's just been a long day. He's barely been himself."

"Hmm... I wonder  _why_ ," says Morgana, wearing an almost comical expression of total innocence, and Merlin tries not to yelp when she elbows him sharply.

He glares at Morgana as soon as Mithian is preoccupied with her food, but Morgana is shameless, grinning behind her wineglass.

Minutes pass. When a quarter of an hour passes and Arthur still hasn't returned- Merlin knows because he checks his watch every other minute- Mithian abandons all pretenses of casualty.

"Merlin?" Mithian's brow is furrowed with worry. "Will you go check on him?"

"Uh," says Merlin, quite articulately, but Mithian's eyes are entreating and Morgana is nodding fervently behind her wineglass and Merlin finds it incredibly ironic that they both want the same thing of him.

"Alright. Fine." He rises from his chair and takes a few steps, pausing impulsively to squeeze Mithian's shoulder reassuringly.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself as he navigates through the tables, eyes searching for any sign of the restroom. "Why do I have to be so fucking  _nice_?"

Merlin walks across the perimiter of the restaurant once, cannot locate the restroom, and is about to resign himself to using his mediocre knowledge of Spanish to ask where it is when he hears Arthur calling his name.

" _Mer_ lin!"

Merlin whirls and finds Arthur sitting at the bar- or, rather, slouching over the counter. In front of him, three empty shot glasses are lined, and Arthur is reaching for the fourth when Merlin grabs his wrist.

" _No_." And Merlin's ears are red because he knows this is the first time he's touched Arthur's hand in ages, and the thin skin of his wrist is soft under the pad of his thumb, and the curve of it is familiar.

Impossibly, inexplicably- Merlin hears Arthur draw in a breath, almost a hiss. He looks up and finds Arthur's eyes wide, pupils dilated, staring at where Merlin touches him as though staring at a burn.

Arthur's eyes snap to Merlin's. "Don't touch me."

Something dislodges in Merlin's chest. "Oh," he says softly, blinking back the sudden tears that spring to his eyes. "Oh. Fuck."

"No, Merlin-"

Merlin is aware of Arthur protesting, but he doesn't care, and he is turning away  _to get the hell out of there_ when Arthur's hand stops him, grabbing his forearm and pulling, then cradling, because Arthur's always known exactly when he has Merlin where he wants him.

"Look. I don't know how to do this," says Arthur. Merlin can't look at Arthur's face so he looks at his chest, but fuck that isn't any better, because the first two buttons of his shirt have come undone and Merlin wants to press his lips there.

"I've never gotten married before. And  _you_ \- it's fucking hard." Merlin closes his eyes for a moment, nearly coming undone at his choice of words. Arthur, oblivious, continues. "Don't take anything I do- or say- the wrong way. I don't mean any of it. I just.. I just don't know  _how_  and- fuck, Merlin, look at me."

And then Arthur's fingers are crossing the bridge of his shoulders, grazing the sensitive skin at the juncture between collarbone and throat, and Merlin tries not to shake as his fingers go further, climbing up the back of his neck and then curling around it, tickling the short hairs there in a way that is  _oh_  so familiar.

From there, Arthur's thumb comes around to tilt Merlin's chin up, and their eyes meet before Arthur's gaze drops to Merlin's throat, which is working frantically because Merlin forgot how big Arthur's hands were, all the skin they could cover at once.

"Merlin." Arthur says it like he doesn't realize he's saying it, a breath. Then he seems to collect himself, his eyes returning to Merlin's and his voice turning pointed. "Merlin. Will you... be my best man?"

Merlin's voice is a croak. "What?"

"Please. Listen, I'm not drunk- I don't want you to think I asked you while I was drunk," Arthur says vehemently. "Please. I- you  _are_ my best man."

Merlin swallows;  _fuck_ , the implications. "I... we should go back. Mithian's worried."

At the mention of Mithian, Arthur's eyes cloud over. Still, he does not budge. "Is that a yes?"

Merlin hesitates, then nods sharply, then turns away and walks as quickly as he can, unable to look at Arthur for a second longer.

At the table, Mithian asks Merlin about Arthur, and for an answer he gestures vaguely behind him, not trusting himself to speak. Sure enough, Arthur settles himself into his chair a second later. Merlin is aware of Mithian leaning over Arthur to whisper something in his ear, and he's aware of Arthur nodding tightly, and aware of Morgana's eyes on him, wide and questioning and concerned.

"Yes!" Mithian smiles as she pulls away from Arthur. "I'm so happy, Merlin. We're honored to have you as best man."

Morgana chokes. Merlin reaches over and pounds her on the back, handing her a glass of water, which Morgana accepts gratefully. When she can speak, she turns stunned eyes to Merlin. "Best man?"

"What?" Mithian looks from Morgana to Merlin, obviously worried. "That's good, right? Morgana?"

With an almost frightening ease, Morgana settles back into her smiling facade. "But of course." And then she adds: "Merlin deserves it."

The words are a stab at her brother, which he immediately recognizes and returns with a glare.

"Oh, good," Mithian says in a relieved breath. "Because I've got a similar proposition for you, Morgana."

The facade falls away, and Morgana looks vaguely terrified as she says, "Please don't make me maid of honor."

Mithian laughs. "No. My best friend's got that spot reserved since we were about ten years old, I'm afraid... no, I'd like you to be a bridesmaid."

Morgana's jaw falls open. Mithian goes on. "You're Arthur's sister. It makes sense."

Merlin watches Morgana awkwardly piece her act back together and gracefully accept, to which Mithian looks eternally grateful.

"This makes everything so perfect," Mithian gushes. Merlin and Morgana exchange a glance and wonder when exactly would be an appropriate time to ask to leave.

Eventually, Merlin claims he's got to visit the restroom, and Morgana excuses herself with a smoking break, and the two meet outside. They exchange mutually terrified glances.

"A  _bridesmaid_?" Morgana squeaks, incredulous.

Merlin barely hears her. His mind is swimming.  _You are my best man._

He listens to Morgana curse as she digs around in her purse, and when he finally looks at her she sports a lit cigarette. She looks at back at him, and her sigh is tinged with smoke.

"Fuck," says Morgana. "This is going to be a  _long_  weekend."


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a moment to sincerely thank each and every one of you who reviewed, favorited, or followed this story- and especially the reviewers. Throughout the period in which I wrote part 2, every time I'd start to write, I'd flip to your reviews and read them once before starting. They were amazing and encouraging, and I thank you.
> 
> Now, some updates. First off, I've changed my tumblr url (again, sorry!) it's now hisclotpole. Hopefully, that lovely one will stick for more than a few months. Also, note that this story is going to be 4-5 parts, so this isn't the end. That said, leave some more reviews for me! :)

 

 

**Coffee & Cigarettes**

  
**  
**_Part 2_

Morgana, as always, is right.

By the time they reach Malaga the next day, Merlin feels like it's been a week since he left London. He feels stressed and disappointed and incredibly  _tired_ , the sort of weariness that settles in one's bones and manifests itself in every twitch of a muscle. He does not expect much else; after all, he had to chase a night of tossing and turning with an phone call from Elyan, followed by a shower knob that would not turn to  _hot_ and then a disgusting cup of coffee. The icing on the cake was Mithian mentioning Uther over breakfast.

In general, it was not a pleasant morning.

Thankfully, nobody else seemed particularily chipper as they drove to their destination. Mithian, in the passenger seat, flipped through a novel. Morgana, though looking as impeccable as ever, alternated between smoking and texting furiously. Arthur was sullen, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. Despite the twinge in his stomach Arthur's perpetual frown caused him, Merlin was grateful for the brief reprieve the silence allows him.

It does not, however, last long- as Merlin quickly realizes while climbing out of the car, limbs feeling stiff. Mithian snaps her novel shut and tucks it in her purse decisively, Merlin has a fleeting impulse to jump back into the car and drive away.

"You have- oh, twenty minutes to settle in," Mithian tells them, gesturing to the hotel before them. "Then we ought to go to your fittings. Me and Arthur will wait in the lobby."

Merlin and Morgana check in with ease and board the lift. Just as the doors slide shut, Merlin catches a glimpse of Mithian sliding across the sofa and climbing into Arthur's lap.

"Merlin?"

"Mmm?"

Morgana bends and retrieves something. "You dropped your room key."

"Oh." Merlin feels the tips of his ears flame up as he reaches for it. "Thanks."

"No problem." Morgana's attention is shifted to her phone, which she quickly attends to- and as they leave the lift, she releases a long sigh.

"Who is it?" Merlin asks, realizing as though from afar that he's been incredibly self-absorbed.

"Morgause," Morgana answers, sighing again- a tad too dramatically. "She says she doesn't want to come."

"That's weird," Merlin frowns. "I mean. She's not too hot for Arthur, but she loves you. She'll come if you ask her, right?"

"Yeah," Morgana says, the sigh lifting and being replaced with a knowing grin. "She's coming. We both know it, but we have to go through this charade where I beg and beg and she uses the  _worst_  excuses-"

"Never known you to beg for anything," Merlin chuckles.

"Tell me about it," Morgana huffs. "It's different with Morgause. She brings out the worst in me."

They reach Merlin's hotel room door, and Morgana pats him on the back before moving on. "Don't forget-  _twenty minutes_ ," Morgana says in a deep, threatening voice, and Merlin laughs as he walks into his room because Morgana can be quite ridiculous.

A half-hour later- Merlin couldn't find the stash of socks in his duffle bag- the two return to the lift for their return trip.

"Can I just  _talk_  about how much I hate this?" Morgana whines. "Just for a minute?"

Merlin smiles wryly. "Get in line."

"I'm  _serious_ , Merlin!" Morgana says it as though Merlin was mocking her pain. "I don't want to wear a bridesmaid dress- an identical dress! Part of a matching set!"

"I'm sure you'll still stick out," Merlin says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"But I don't want to wear a dress  _Mithian_  picked! It's- it's probably pink!" She says this last as though stating the epitomy of horror.

Merlin pats her on the shoulder just as the elevator dings, announcing their arrival. "If it is, I'll be sure to take a picture."

Morgana slaps his hand away and moves ahead of him, muttering: "My dress was going to be  _fantastic_."

"I'm sure," Merlin murmurs, quieting as they reach Arthur, because Mithian is still in his lap and Arthur's hands cradle her waist.

Mithian's smile is wide when she catches sight of them. "There you are! Ready to go, then?"

"As I'll ever be," Morgana mutters, then chases it with a smile when Mithian's expression falls.

"Alright, then." Mithian and Arthur stand, which makes Merlin feel much less likely to vomit, but then Mithian reaches over and takes Arthur's hand. Arthur's eyes flit to Merlin's for a fraction of a second- and Merlin sucks in a breath, because what he thinks he sees in Arthur's eyes is impossible.

An apology.

But then Mithian is leading them out of the hotel and the moment ends, just as it always does with the two of them, and Merlin wonders if they will ever-

( _"If only we'd met somewhere else- some_ when _else." A short, miserable laugh because even in the midst of it all, Merlin uses a made up word. "No newspapers or companies or medical degrees. Another century... olden times. We'd get it right then, wouldn't we?"_ )

-get the timing right. And then he realizes that he only has forty-eight hours to  _make_  it right, or else it'll be too late.

* * *

"Do you know what made me want to get married?"

Merlin looks down at Arthur somewhat uncomfortably from his perch, startled at the question. "What?"

The serious air goes out of Arthur's face as it breaks into a grin. "You look silly, standing up there. You know that?"

Merlin huffs. Nearly half an hour ago, they entered the small boutique, led by Mithian, who immediately discovered that the woman who would alter Morgana's dress was minutes away from leaving for the day. Mithian then grabbed Morgana's arm, spoke rapidly to another woman in Spanish- while pointing at Merlin, which made him feel vaguely frightened- then disappeared with a helpless Morgana into the depths of the shop. The woman then turned to Merlin, her dark eyes filled with purpose, and Arthur laughed at the way Merlin jumped when she grabbed his arm.

"What?" Arthur said, still laughing at Merlin's shocked expression. "Don't worry. She's taking you in for your fitting."

"Yeah, with her claws of  _steel_ ," Merlin muttered, wincing at the pressure of her grasp.

"Don't worry." Arthur patted Merlin on the back. "She's harmless."

Arthur was wrong. As soon as they were enclosed in a small fitting room, the woman ushered Merlin onto a wooden stool and wouldn't let him down, and Arthur found endless amusement in Merlin's predicament.

"As if you need to be taller," Arthur now says, stifling a laugh with his fist.

"Shut up," Merlin mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching. He stares at the woman entreatingly, but she shakes her head viciously and Merlin sighs.

"So." Merlin, burning with curiosity, wonders how best to return to the question Arthur asked. "What were you saying?"

"Oh- yeah." The laughter drains from Arthur's face. "What made me want to get married."

Merlin presses his hands to his sides as though to still them. "What was it?"

"Gwen."

Merlin's eyes widen. " _Gwen_?"

"Well- Gwen and Lance." Arthur ducks his head in a way that is familiar to Merlin, as though he is embarrassed at what he's about to say. "Their wedding... it was nice," he finishes lamely.

Merlin raises a brow, and Arthur sighs, conceding himself to further explanation.

"It was just- you know, Gwen and Lance. They didn't always have an easy time of it, but then, that day, everything was  _perfect_  and..." Arthur's face contorts, as though finding words to explain his thoughts is incredibly strenuous. "And I hadn't seen you- everyone, I mean, in so long... I didn't notice, until then, how lonely I was."

Merlin watches Arthur's throat work and his heart contracts.

"It just made me think about where my life was heading," Arthur continues, his voice significantly steadier. "Yes, I wanted to be a travelling journalist. And I got that. But what did I give up in exchange?"

Merlin's eyes widen because he can't believe the words are coming out of Arthur's mouth; and Arthur goes on, oblivious. "My father, my friends... and I hadn't had someone serious for years. Since-"

_Since you._

"I tried to tell you," Arthur says, and there is something desperate in his tone. "I tried- to tell you, during the wedding. Do you remember?"

"Yes," Merlin manages, throat dry, because he  _does_ remember-

( _"Look at them." A floating couple decked in white and bliss. "They look.. they look so happy. That's what it's all about, isn't it?"_ )

-with astute clarity, and he hates that he mistook Arthur's words for a casual comment.

"I'm pushing thirty." Arthur barks a harsh laugh. "Do I want to spend my life alone?"

"No," says Merlin, wondering miserably why he was never enough. "No. Of course not."

"I'm glad you understand," Arthur says, and he certainly  _sounds_  glad, relief whooshing from his voice- and Merlin asks himself why he makes it easy for the bastard. "I wouldn't be able to do this without you, Merlin. Without you by my side. I wouldn't."

And just like that, Merlin's insides melt- because Arthur's claim is sincere, because Merlin knows he'll continue making it easy for the bastard so long as he gets to be on the recieving end of that golden sincerity every once in a while.

Arthur's eyes suddenly go quizzical and searching, and Merlin quickly clears his throat before Arthur can speak. "Well, yeah. No surprise there. You wouldn't be able to do much without me, you spoiled brat."

Arthur grins. "You're fantastic."

Merlin's lips part and Arthur looks suddenly confused, as though the words were dragged from him without his consent.

"I just- I mean," Arthur stumbles, flustered. "You're dealing with this  _well_ , and... fuck it, you're one of a kind, Merlin."

Merlin feels the smile form on his face. "Thanks?"

Arthur's brows come together. "Why are you posing it like a  _ques_ tion?"

Merlin's smile doesn't budge as he shrugs. "I don't know."

Arthur shakes his head, fondly. "Idiot."

"Clotpole," Merlin returns, because it's a habit as old as the both of them.

Arthur dispells the moment in a way that is typical. "I'm hungry."

"We just ate!"

Arthur rolls his eyes, speaking as though Merlin is a child being made to understand something. "We ate before we left Madrid, Merlin, and that was  _hours_  ago."

Merlin quirks a brow and tries to step off the stool. "Yeah, but you ate enough to feed a small army-  _alright_ , I won't move!"

The old woman glares at Merlin threateningly, and Arthur laughs when Merlin holds up his hands in surrender.

"God." Merlin shakes his head and tries not to laugh. "Can we get  _on_  with this?"

"Not until Mithian comes in, I think."

"Right." Merlin throws his head back and sighs. "And... how long will that be?"

"Dunno. Mithian's usually prompt, unnaturally so, actually, but Morgana..." Arthur shakes his head as though suggesting Merlin resign himself to his doom.

"Ah." Merlin plants his hands on his hips and turns to the woman. "Will I be sleeping here tonight, then?"

The woman wags a threatening finger at Merlin, and Arthur seems to find this endlessly amusing.

"You're insane," Arthur says, casually.

"You're fat," Merlin retorts, tone just as casual.

" _Is that so_?" Arthur's tone is threatening but there is mirth in his eyes, and Merlin bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. " _Mithian_  seems to find me fit enough."

Merlin forces himself not to frown, not to let the mention of Mithian ruin this stolen moment with Arthur. " _She's_  insane, then."

"Oh? Because she finds me incredibly attractive?"

Merlin's eyes widen involuntarily, but he quickly schools himself into a more natural disposition. "Yeah," he says lightly, but it's too late, because Arthur is looking at him strangely.

"Were you surprised when I told you?"

"Oh." Merlin did  _not_  expect this change of topic. He feels the tips of his ears go red, and wonders if it's the right time to be honest with Arthur. "No."

Arthur scoffs. "Please."

Merlin relents. "Alright, I was a little surprised."

"Shocked?"

" _No_. Just surprised."

" _Mer_ lin, how many times a day must I tell you what a horrible liar you are?"

Merlin shrugs, guiltily pleased at how well Arthur knows him. "Alright. I was.. very much surprised."

Arthur raises a brow, and Merlin sighs.

" _Fine_. I fell and missed the bed."

"So  _that's_  the sound I heard." Arthur nods. "I was a tad worried about you, to tell you the truth."

Merlin tries to control the flutter in his chest. "Thanks, I guess."

"Yeah. So, um... how'd the rest of them take it?"

The tone in which the question is delivered betrays him; Merlin can tell that Arthur's been wondering about this for a long time. "Well," Merlin begins, again wondering whether or not to tell the truth. "They were surprised, too."

It's the best way he can put it without lying. Arthur ducks his head, as though sensing this. "They- disapprove?"

"No-"

"They don't know her," Arthur says, jaw squared in that incredibly self-righteous way that was purely  _him_. Merlin's stomach twists at this display of protectiveness.

"I know that," Merlin says quietly, and control slips from him like sand though his fingers. "It's just, well, they know  _me_."

Arthur's eyes widen at that, his mouth opening in surprise, and Merlin swallows in anticipation of what's coming; but just then the door to the room bursts open, bringing with it Mithian and Morgana.

"Finally-  _done_ ," Mithian announces proudly. "Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Merlin."

"It's alright," Merlin answers after a moment, his gaze finally snapping from Arthur's parted lips.

Morgana's gaze alternates from Merlin to Arthur, and Merlin can see in her eyes that she understands what she's interrupted. "Uh. Mithian? Could we go back? I forgot to tell the seamstress something about the train."

"Oh- I'm sorry, she left." Mithian frowns, truly upset. "Perhaps we could.. ah..."

Morgana sighs. "Nevermind."

"Are you sure...?"

"Yeah." Merlin watches Morgana's face and knows she's trying not to roll her eyes, and he smiles to reassure her.

"Great." Mithian checks her watch and her eyebrows come together, but then she raises her head and claps. "Alright- we're a little behind on schedule, but we can still make it to lunch. Merlin. Strip."

Merlin's eyebrows shoot into his hair. "Um."

"Come on, Merlin." It's Morgana, and she looks like a giddy child on Christmas morning. "We haven't got all day."

Merlin glares daggers into her; then tries to turn a beseeching gaze to Mithian, but it is entirely wasted since Mithian's attention is directed to her phone; and Arthur, Arthur's face is flushed and his eyes flit from one corner of the room to another, anywhere  _but_  Merlin.

Merlin tries not to smile as his fingers move to his collar and start to unbutton his shirt.

"They're here," says Mithian.

Arthur's gaze snaps to Mithian. "Who?"

"The girls," Mithian informs him, looking up from her phone. "Arthur, will you go sit with them till I'm done here?"

" _Yes_." Arthur jumps out of his seat, but Morgana holds up a hand.

"No need," says Morgana, all false sweetness. "I'll go."

Mithian's face lights up. "Yes! Perfect! You can meet the other bridesmaids."

But Arthur is not deterred. "I'll go too," he says, and disappears through the door before any of them can argue.

Morgana's eyes narrow on the spot that Arthur just occupied, her eyes full of something suppressed, before she exhales and visibly forces herself to relax. As she leaves, she shrugs helplessly at Merlin, mouthing:  _I'm sorry_.

"You'll love them."

It takes a moment for Merlin to register that Mithian just spoke to him. His mind is on Arthur, flustered and infuriatingly avoidant. "Sorry?"

"My friends," Mithian says, waving her hands at Merlin; and Merlin gets on with it, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off.

"I'm sure I will."

Mithian turns and faces the wall as Merlin reaches for his trousers. When he is down to his boxers, the seamstress begins to clothe him, and he tries not to jump when her cold fingers graze his skin.

"Do you like the tux?"

"Sure," Merlin answers, because he doesn't care much either way.

"I know you're not much for fancy things, but Arthur assured me this is to your taste."

Merlin doesn't answer right away. Then: "The tie is red."

Mithian seems to take this as permission to turn around. "What?"

"The tie. It's  _red_." Merlin takes the tie from the seamstress, who releases a string of angry Spanish, and holds it up; an accusation.

"Yes. It is... don't you like it?"

"Red's a little gaudy for a wedding, don't you think?"

Mithian nods. "You don't have to tell me. I  _hate_  it, but Arthur seemed sure you'd like it."

Merlin blinks. "Arthur picked it out?"

"Well, yes. Didn't he tell you?" For a moment, Mithian looks confused. "God, Arthur hasn't told you much of anything, has he?"

Merlin tries to shake his head, but his muscles seem frozen. Mithian goes on, oblivious to Merlin's agony. "He said you two have a  _thing_ \- something with the color red. He wants you and him to wear red ties at the wedding."

"He's... wearing one too?"

"Yeah." Mithian smiles uncertainly. "Wow, I feel really guilty now... this is  _my_  fault, Arthur not telling you about the tie or the fitting or anything. I must not be allowing you two enough time to catch up, yeah?"

"Something like that," Merlin mumbles, the words concealed beneath his breath.

Suddenly, his phone lights up- and Merlin steps down from the stool, ignoring the indignant seamstress, and picks it up from on top of his pile of clothes. Without looking at the screen, Merlin holds it up apologetically to Mithian and says, "I have to take this."

Mithian smiles tightly. "Sure. We'll just step out- let you change back into your clothes and take that."

A moment later, after some intense Spanish persuasion from Mithian, Merlin is alone. He gives himself a second to breathe then presses the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Heard you were in some serious shit, my friend."

"Gwaine." A low rumble of affirmation fills Merlin's ear. "Yeah. Serious shit sounds right."

"How bad?"

"Uh... well, she's a petite brunette."

It's a moment before Gwaine answers. "Shit."

"Tell me about it." Merlin tucks the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and awkwardly tries to pull off his pants. "She's like- a saint. I'm serious. She's better than  _Lance_."

Gwaine scoffs. "Nobody's better than Lance."

"Oh, yeah?  _She_  is. She doesn't curse or get angry and she's got all her shit together... I mean, bloody hell, Gwaine, she wears summer dresses in  _pastel colors_."

He slowly enunciates the last for maximum effect, and is satisfied at Gwaine's sharp intake of breath.

"Merlin. You're in trouble."

"Thanks," says Merlin dryly. His pants successfully off but pooled on the floor, he tries to shrug off the jacket to the tux. "And she's really sweet and she wants to be friends and... Arthur loves her," he finishes miserably.

"Did he actually tell you that?"

Merlin doesn't have to think. "No."

"Then don't add that to your list of worries," Gwaine advises. "Nobody's better at denial than Arthur. Seriously."

"Maybe..."

"Oi." Gwaine's tone is suddenly authoritative in his ear. "Don't get all pouty. You're not gonna get your man unless you  _focus_."

"Focus?" Merlin's tone is both doubtful and confused. The jacket joins the pants on the floor, and Merlin begins to unbutton his shirt with one hand.

"Yes. Focus. Action plan.  _Seduction_."

Merlin laughs. "You sound like Morgana."

"Uh... bit of a scary thought, actually." Gwaine's mock shudder makes Merlin grin. "On that note- with Morgana helping you out, there's no way you don't win. Arthur will definitely realize how he feels about you come Sunday."

The unbuttoned shirt falls easily from Merlin's shoulders. "You think so?"

"I  _know_  so."

"So you think I have a chance?"

"I think you-"

The rest of Gwaine's reply is swallowed by a series of knocks against the door, and the door swings open before Merlin can protest. Arthur walks in, a shirt draped over his arm, and freezes when he catches sight of Merlin.

For a moment, they're both perfectly still. Merlin feels the heat creep into his face because Arthur's eyes are drinking him in, and he's wearing nothing except his boxers.

" _Merlin_?"

Arthur snaps out of his reverie, his gaze falling to Merlin's hand. "Is that- someone on the phone?"

"Uh.." Merlin hides the phone behind his back. "No."

Arthur raises a brow, but doesn't persue the topic. "Right. Um. Mithian wanted me to give you this..."

"Right-"

"Because apparently the restaurant we're going to for lunch is a bit fancy-"

"Of course-"

"And you're dressed a bit on the casual side-"

"As I always am-"

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur huffs, exasperated and fond, and Merlin loves the way it sounds. "Let me talk, yeah?"

"Sure," Merlin concedes, but Arthur's gaze is boring holes into his navel and he doesn't know how long it'll be before he loses control.

Just then, Arthur's eyes snap back to Merlin's and seem to read everything there. "Are you... should I turn around or something?"

He says it as though the suggestion is ludicrous, but Merlin truly fears he will back Arthur into a wall and start biting at the hollow of his throat if he doesn't stop looking at him like that. " _Yes_."

When Arthur doesn't move, Merlin bends and grabs the article of clothing nearest to him. He is dismayed to find it a thouroughly buttoned-up shirt.

"Why? Are you... uncomfortable?" To Merlin, Arthur sounds vaguely hurt. "I've seen you a lot more naked than that."

Merlin swallows. "Things are- things are different now." His fingers frantically work at the buttons, but then he gives up and plasters the shirt haphazardly to his front.

"Yeah." Arthur ducks his head. "It is different."

Merlin says nothing, and a beat later Arthur throws him the shirt.

"Don't be so self conscious, Merlin," Arthur says before turning to the door. "You look good without your clothes on."

A small smirk, and then Arthur's gone, and Merlin lets the shirt fall from his fingers. He lifts the phone to his ear slowly, as though in a trance. "Gwaine?"

"There you are, you bastard. What happened?"

Merlin allows himself a small smile. "She's going down."

"Team Merlin!" Gwaine cheers, and it sounds so uncharacteristically girly that Merlin can't help but laugh.

* * *

The bridesmaids couldn't have been more different if they'd come from the four corners of the earth.

Sophia is small and curvy and sports a head of caramel curls, her heart-shaped face perpetually smiling. When Mithian introduces Merlin, Sophia embraces him with excessive gusto, claiming they'd have the "best weekend ever" and that she'll "absolutely ensure that you're not bored for a single second."

"We'll be the best of friends," Sophia finishes, beaming- and Morgana's eyes are wide and somewhat afraid behind her, which Merlin finds funny.

Vivian is quieter. She doesn't embrace Merlin at all, but extends a manicured hand, and only after Mithian introduces him twice; as though it is an afterthought. Merlin takes her hand hesitantly, and is relieved when she releases him from her bird-like grip.

Then there's Morgana, of course, but she needs no introduction.

"Last but certainly not least," says Mithian. "My best friend and my maid of honor. Freya."

Merlin warily eyes the dark-haired girl who steps forward, expecting  _some_  sort of extreme; but her step is timid, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, and Merlin realizes that she feels as out of place as he.

"Merlin..." Freya's mouth forms a tremulous smile. "Good to meet you."

"Likewise," says Merlin, for once telling the truth. He takes her hand and her hazel eyes immediately turn up to him, warming.

As they walk out of the boutique and split into two cars, Sophia asks Merlin to ride with them. Though Morgana shoots him a warning glance, Merlin accepts the offer; and when Vivian pushes him out of her way to take the window seat, he immediately starts to regret doing so.

"You can sit by me."

Merlin starts, and finds Freya watching him. She chuckles, probably at his expression. "Sorry. Viv can be a bit rude."

She gestures to the passenger seat, and Merlin lets himself smile. "Thanks."

The ride offers him a small respite. Merlin wallows in the strands of  _The Smiths_ that waft from the stereo. He glances at Freya, whose gaze is focused on the road, and feels grateful at having finally encountered someone who seems normal.  _Not_  being within ten feet of Arthur is a treat as well, and Merlin savors the peace of mind.

The feeling does not last.

Uther Pendragon's face is the first that Merlin sees in the restaurant, and it's almost as though someone douses the sun. Merlin falters in his step, and Freya grabs his arm. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Merlin says, a little hoarse. Uther seems similarily impacted; he blinks at Merlin, as though in disbelief. Then, because the man is a hideous parody of a father, he swings his head and glares accusatorily at Arthur.

The small gesture fills Merlin's mouth with bile. He steps forward and extends his hand with purpose. "Mr. Pendragon."

Now Uther's heated gaze is trained on him, but Merlin steels his jaw and bears it. At least he isn't glaring at Arthur. Uther's face rearranges itself into a tight smile. "Merlin."

"Been a while, sir," Merlin says, not sure at all what to say and hardly caring because nothing with him is ever  _right_  when it comes to Uther.

Uther opens his mouth as though to answer, but a hand claps down on Merlin's shoulder, startling him.

"Come on," Arthur mumbles, not looking at either of them. "There's people you ought to meet."

It feels like Merlin is then dragged from one person to another, and he quickly loses count. He notices only that there is an  _astounding_  number of old women, and Mithian's father stands out too; a tall, broad man with gray hair and a matching gray goatee that frames his rich laugh. The two minutes Merlin spends in his company reveal that he is a very likable man, and that makes everything infinitely worse.

Finally, Merlin appears to have met everybody, and Arthur allows him to be seated; and it is only when he moves away that Merlin misses the slight grip Arthur had on his shoulder.

Somehow, Freya ends up next to him. Merlin lifts a brow, amused. "Are you following me?"

"Um, no. The seating is arranged, actually. You're the best man and I'm the, um..." To his horror, Freya blushes.

"Sorry, you're right." Merlin's apology is quick and somewhat frantic. "I didn't mean to be-"

" _No_ , I shouldn't be so flustered." Freya bites her lip. "It's just that you look a little peeved, or upset or something, and I don't want to make it worse."

Merlin pauses. "I look upset?"

Freya nods, eyes wide. "Maybe not- I don't mean to be assuming."

"You weren't," Merlin says, absentmindedly; is he really so transparent? And is Arthur's company so... cumbersome, so weighty, that it sometimes escapes Merlin's notice?

He is startled when Freya passes him a glass of something unidentifiable, but surely alchoholic.

Merlin looks around at all the other empty glasses on the table, surprised. "How'd you get that?"

Freya shrugs, enigmatic. "Maid of honor," she says, and winks.

Merlin sips tentatively from the glass at first, but when Uther stands to give a toast he tilts his head and lets his Adam's apple bob through the burn. A few seconds later, the glass is empty, and Merlin catches Arthur staring at him.

He is seated directly across from Merlin, and Mithian from Freya. Arthur's eyes, solemn, shift from Merlin to the emptied glass and back to Merlin again.

Merlin shrugs and tries to look away, to  _not_  bask in Arthur's concern, and Freya helps him out by tugging on his sleeve to attract his attention to the waiter.

He nods to the first dish the waiter suggests, not understanding and not caring. Sophia, a couple seats down from Freya, clinks on her glass, and those in the immediate circle surrounding her look up.

"Mithian," Sophia beams. "This all came together so fast that there wasn't time for a lot of things you should have had..."

"Oh, Sophia!" Mithian grins broadly even as she shakes her head. "Don't start."

Sophia ignores her. " _Such as_ a bachelorette party!"

The girls around her laugh and shout affirmations. "I don't need one," Mithian says.

"Nonsense," Sophia dismisses.

"I'm serious!"

"Well, I know you are.  _But_ \- your natural contentment robbed us from the chance to embarrass you!"

Mithian groans, but Arthur cracks a grin. Despite himself, Merlin feels his spirit lift; watching this display of camaderie reminds him of his friends.

"It's quiz time!" Sophia announces.

At Mithian's bout of protest, Freya reaches across the table and takes her friend's hand. "We've been planning this for a while, Mithian."

"All morning, in fact," Sophia jumps in.

"There's no getting out of it." Freya's grin is wide and white.

"We're quizzing you first, Mithian," says Sophia. "Give Arthur a chance to warm up. We all know how uncomfortable he gets when things get personal."

Arthur's cheeks go pink and he starts to protest, but Sophia waves him off. "Let's see how much you know about Arthur!"

"First question." Freya pulls a slip of paper from her handbag, which causes Mithian's eyes to go wide. " _What?_ We thought of the questions over breakfast! Alright, first question- Arthur's favorite song?"

"Um..." Mithian bites her lip, then swings her head to Arthur and smiles apologetically. "I know his favorite band. Does that count?"

"Arthur doesn't have a favorite band." The words leave Merlin before he can stop himself.

Mithian spares Merlin a glance, her smile faltering, before refocusing on Arthur. "Really?"

"Sort of, yeah." Arthur looks slightly uncomfortable, but then his gaze meets Merlin's and there's something there that warms Merlin's insides. Appreciation, or maybe recognition; Merlin isn't sure. But Arthur's voice grows stronger. "I like too much music- I've got thirty favorite bands, at least."

"Oh." After a moment, Mithian laughs. "Well. Void question, Freya."

"No, no," Sophia cuts in, glancing at the paper in Freya's hands. "There's an answer. What's Arthur's favorite song, Mithian?"

Helpless, Mithian shrugs. Morgana pipes up. " _Mer_ lin? Do you know?"

Merlin glares at her, and can immediately tell that she's biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes the oppurtunity she gave him; after all, he can't forget that Arthur is the end goal.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur holds up a hand.

" _Wait_. Merlin." His eyes are narrowed in a way that is both stern and comical. "Don't say. It's embarrassing."

"What?" The girls sit up, intruiged. "Why? What is it? Tell us, Merlin!"

"I'm curious," says Mithian.

"It's nothing." Arthur tries to act nonchalant. "Eighties power ballad."

" _Tell_ ," Sophia begs.

Merlin sees the warning in Arthur's eyes and grins, because he's never been one to do as he's told. "You're the Voice. John Farnham."

Freya throws her head back and laughs, Sophia giggles into her hand, but Mithian wears only a polite smile. "Haven't heard it..."

Arthur stops glaring daggers at Merlin to squeeze Mithian's shoulder reassuringly. "Doesn't matter."

"Merlin and Arthur used to sing that song all the time," Morgana announces, and heads swivel towards her, greedy for gossip. "All the time, really- it made me sick! And they'd make the silliest faces while doing it, too. I have videos."

Arthur's jaw falls open. "You still  _have_  those videos, Morgana?"

Morgana's grin is shameless. "Not my fault you were obsessed with recording every second of your life."

"Adorable," Sophia croons.

Mithian's smile is polite, but nothing more. "How did you know all this, anyway?"

"Morgana helped us," says Sophia, and Merlin should have known. "At the boutique."

"Nobody better to give us dirt on Arthur than his sister," adds a girl who's name Merlin can't recall.

"Next question." Freya clears her throat. "What song was playing the first time you slow danced?"

Merlin lets himself smile as he remembers  _their_  first time- the terrible lighting, the crisp navy of Arthur's shirt, Arthur singing along-

[  _"Merlin." Lips imprint themselves on the hollow of his throat, and Merlin can feel the lyrics marking his skin. "'Darling, you know I will love you 'till the end of time.'"_ ]

\- terribly, of course, because Arthur can't sing. Merlin looks up and finds Arthur studying him. He blushes; can Arthur sense the direction of his thoughts? He tries to smile, but even  _he_  knows it's unconvincing.

Mithian's brow creases. "We... haven't slow danced, have we?"

Arthur shakes his head, eyes barely darting from Merlin. Freya's lips curve downwards and she leans back in her chair, mumbling: "Terrible question."

"You haven't slow danced?" Vivian's eyes are wide and incredulous.

"Nice of you to join us, Vivian." Freya rolls her eyes.

"Just haven't had the occasion," Mithian shrugs, seeming nonchalant. Her hand joins Arthur's on the white tablecloth. "We'll dance at the wedding, won't we?"

Arthur smiles and nods, and Merlin watches as his fingers, gold and strong, tighten around Mithian's.

The food arrives. In the momentary distraction of steaming, fragrant plates, Merlin notices Freya try to tuck the paper away; but Sophia notices and confiscates it, small mouth curled in triumph.

"Next question-"

" _Last_  question."

Sophia tries to protest, but Freya's eyes do not allow it.

"Alright, last," she huffs. "What's the one item Arthur can't live without?"

Mithian's face lights up; and Merlin pities her, because he knows the answer, and he knows she doesn't deserve this.

"This watch." Mithian holds up Arthur's arm, showing it off. "He doesn't go anyplace without it, only takes it off when he has to."

Vivian's nose wrinkles. "You can afford better, Arthur."

"Hush." It comes from Mithian. "It's a very nice watch."

" _Very_ ," drawls Morgana. "I recognize that watch. Can't believe you still have it, after all these years."

Mithian looks surprised. "He had it when he was living in London?"

"Oh, yes." Morgana's lip curls. "Merlin gave it to him."

Merlin feels eyes focusing on him and turns his down, remembering-

[  _"I know you're used to nice things." Shy, hopeful, new. "You probably own a nicer one- this is probably_ rubbish _, but- happy birth-" Silenced with a kiss._ ]

\- how he felt, then, when Arthur accepted his gift; and asking himself why he still wears it.

As though hearing the question spoken aloud, Arthur answers it. "Haven't had a chance to buy a new one."

Merlin's eyes snap to Arthur, hot. Arthur's eyes widen marginally, as though startled at what he sees. Merlin lowers his gaze and tries to bring himself to eat, but his misery transforms his food into an unappetizing lump. After a few long moments, he chances a glance at Arthur; he is downcast, fork fiddling with his food, and Merlin takes a twisted pleasure in the fact that he at least  _looks_ guilty.

"Merlin, why aren't you eating?"

He looks up at Freya. "Um.. no reason..."

"He hates fish." Merlin is startled at Arthur's interruption. "He hates fish," Arthur repeats. "The only seafood he likes is shrimp."

Freya's brow wrinkles. "Then why'd you order it?"

"Because he's an idiot," Arthur answers easily, and Merlin tells himself to be strong, to  _not_  forgive him so easily- not again. "Here. Take some of mine."

Merlin glances at Arthur's small portion of pasta, remembers him proclaiming his hunger at the boutique. "But you've barely got any."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Don't worry about my nutrition, Merlin. I can afford to skip a meal. You're the one who's skin and bones."

Before Merlin can protest, Arthur has reached across the table and placed more than half of his pasta on Merlin's plate. Merlin is suddenly grateful that Uther is sitting far away, nearly on the other end of the long table; Uther would see this for what it is. Something more than a plea for forgiveness.

"Let's do Arthur," Sophia calls out, and her choice of words hits Merlin in the stomach.

Freya looks reluctant, but she takes the paper Sophia hands to her. "Alright. Easy one, Arthur, just to test your memory. What was Mithian wearing on your first date?"

For all of him, Arthur looks like a deer trapped in the headlights. "Uh..."

Mithian notes his discomfort and laughs, her hand soothing on his arm. "Don't be so mean. I can't even remember what I wore."

"Rubbish," Sophia dismisses. "Of course you remember. You spent hours thinking about it. You called me and-"

" _Alright_ , that's enough embarrassment." For the first time, Mithian's cheeks are high with color. "Onto the next."

Freya complies. "It's your honeymoon, and you decide to surprise Mithian with breakfast in bed. You want to make it the perfect breakfast- so what do you cook for her?"

Arthur frowns. "I don't cook."

Vivian rolls her eyes, and Mithian shoots her a look. A second later, Vivian has risen from her chair and headed in the general direction of the bar.

"The bar's closed this early in the day," a woman Merlin doesn't recognize says, distinct disapproval in her voice.

"Let's just enjoy our lunch," Mithian says, trying to be bright.

"Yeah," reaffirms Sophia. "I mean. This game was a stupid idea, anyway."

"No." This comes from Freya. "I don't think it matters. Not at all. What can a bunch of random questions tell us about Mithian and Arthur?"

She has the attention of everyone around her; primarily Merlin, who wonders with a twinge of panic what she is going to say.

"Love is beyond trivia," Freya says. "Love is beyond cliches and expectations, beyond words. Arthur and Mithian love each other... and  _love_  is what matters."

Merlin watches Morgana glare at her plate, sucking in her cheeks in a way that he recognizes, a way that means she's holding in something extreme and profane _\- Arthur and Mithian love each other-_  and he feels his stomach turn.

And just then, amazingly, impossibly, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He stands too fast, nearly knocking over his chair. "Excuse me."

Bringing his phone to his ear, Merlin leaves the restaurant as quickly as he can without running. "Hello?"

"How bad is it?"

Merlin welcomes the rich timber of Lance's voice, despite his words. "Hullo, Lance."

"Gwaine seemed to think it was pretty bad."

Merlin sighs. "Well, he probably told you everything you need to know."

"Petite brunette?"

Merlin nods, then remembers Lance can't see him. "She's better than  _you_ , and you're a fucking vegetarian."

"Well." Merlin hears Lance suck in a breath. "Hang in there. I'm calling from the airport."

Merlin feels a shaky laugh burst from him. "What? Aren't you coming tomorrow?"

"Not anymore. Gwen and I- our flight's in a bit."

It feels as though his cheeks might rip from the force of his smile. "Wow. Wow. Thank you, Lance. This will make everything so much better."

"No, it won't." Lance says this with both certainty and weariness. "It doesn't matter who's there with you, me or Gwen or Gwaine or anyone. It doesn't matter unless you do something about  _Arthur_."

The bubbly elation within Merlin withers. "It's not easy. You'll see when you get here- when you meet her."

"Merlin." Lance sounds as exasperated as he ever gets. "I trust you. I know you wouldn't be entertaining any of this unless you knew you had a  _real_  chance at getting Arthur back."

" _Yes_ ," says Merlin, relieved at Lance's understanding.

"But you have a limited amount of time," continues Lance. "And limited options. Two, actually."

Merlin frowns. "Two?"

"Yes." Lance clears his throat. "If you know that he loves you, if you  _see_  it- you tell him how you feel. And if you  _don't_ see it... you say goodbye."

Merlin's throat goes dry. "Goodbye?"

"And you  _move on_."

It's as harsh as Lance has ever been with him, and Merlin feels off-balance. "Oh. Right."

Lance sighs. "I'm sorry, Merlin. We're on our way."

"Can't wait."

"Gwen says she loves you," says Lance after a moment. "I do too."

"Thank you both," Merlin says, and waits a moment before ending the call.

Winded, he leans back on the wall of the restaurant. There aren't many passerbys on the street, and besides, Merlin isn't sure he can return to the insanity within just yet.

"Peace offering?"

Merlin looks up, startled, finding Mithian approaching him, a mug in her outstretched hands. The breeze stirs the skirt of her dress, and she looks such a pretty picture.

"No need," says Merlin, grateful to find his voice steady.

"It's brandy and tea," Mithian explains, and Merlin takes it from her after a moment of hesitation.

The heady fragrance of the hot drink wafts up to meet him. He meets Mithian's gaze with a slight wariness. "What else did he tell you about me?"

"Quite a bit." Mithian settles herself beside him, leaning on the wall, her shoulder almost touching his arm. "Sometimes, you're all he talks about."

Merlin struggles to keep his expression composed, not to react. He takes a sip of the brandy and tea to avoid from answering, and finds it perfect.

"You alright?" Mithian studies him. "Was it Vivian? I know she can be... abrupt."

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine," says Merlin. "Not my place, but... why's she a bridesmaid, anyway?..."

"Cousin."

Merlin nods understandingly, taking another sip from the mug. Mithian watches him and smiles. "Arthur told me once that nothing could fix your mood like a hot cup of brandy and tea."

He looks at her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mithian turns away from him as she continues to speak. "He told me that you've worn the same ratty jacket in all the years he knew you. He told me you love red and blue, and you're not much for excersise, and you can eat all your meals in crisps."

Merlin's nose wrinkles. "He makes me sound delightful."

"Yeah," Mithian laughs. "But he also told me about how you met your other friend- Gwaine, I think? You saved his life."

Merlin smiles wryly. "I made the situation worse- Gwaine ended up saving  _me_."

"Still. He said you're the most selfless person he ever met."

Chuckling nervously, Merlin stifles his impulses with another sip. "That doesn't sound like him."

Mithian acts as though she didn't hear this last statement. She sounds almost as though she's talking to herself when she says- "It's hard to live up to you, sometimes."

Merlin's brows come together, doubtful. "Me?"

"You're kind and generous and you were always there for him," Mithian says, tone still musing. "He'll always revere you, I think."

" _Me_?" Now Merlin's mouth falls open. "Don't be daft, Mithian. He always calls me an idiot."

"Just because he'd be the last to admit it doesn't make it any less true."

Merlin tries to subdue the flutter in his stomach. "I don't think so."

Mithian's gaze is suddenly downcast, and she plays with her fingers, avoiding Merlin's eyes. "You don't like me, do you?"

Merlin nearly chokes on his beverage. "What?"

Mithian looks at him, a challenge in her eyes and her voice. "Well? Do you?"

Merlin scoffs, trying to seem casual. "I don't think it's humanly possible for someone not to like you." It isn't a lie.

Mithian's eyes narrow, and he knows she understands that he still managed to avoid the question. "But you don't...  _like_ me?"

Merlin's lips quirk. "I'll leave the liking to Arthur."

Though Mithian seems appeased, the words taste sour in his mouth.

"I really love him," Mithian says after a moment of thought. "You know that, right?"

Merlin forces himself to answer. "Sure."

This, it seems, is not enough. "You're close with him," Mithian says. "And I know you're protective over him, but... give me a chance?"

Merlin takes another sip from his mug, the beverage suddenly slimy on his tongue.

"He'll always revere you," Mithian goes on. "I want you to know that. I want you to know that I know that, and that I'm  _okay_ with that."

Merlin swallows and nods, suddenly miserable.

"Will you do this for me, Merlin? Give me a chance?"

He nods again, wondering at a name for this exquisite form of torture.

"Wonderful." Mithian's hand finds his and squeezes. "I couldn't let myself be happy if Arthur's best friend didn't approve. He'll always have you on a pedestal."

Merlin swallows thickly. "And you in his arms."

"Yes." Mithian's eyes light up, and she seems pleased with this. "You on a pedestal, me in his arms."

Just then, Arthur bursts out of the restaurant, all gold and blue. His head swings, looking for something, then settles on them; and he's found it, and Merlin isn't sure which of them it is.

This seems not to matter to Mithian. She takes matters into her own hands, pushing herself from the wall. "I better go inside."

"What? Why?"

"Can't have both the bride and groom missing." Mithian squeezes Arthur's hand as she passes, and a moment later, Merlin and Arthur are alone.

Arthur moves to stand beside him, and Merlin is acutely aware of his body heat- close, very close.

"All right?" His words are a huff of air, and only then does Merlin realize that it's getting a bit chilly.

"Yeah," Merlin mumbles, barely audible.

"You know, Merlin..." Arthur's voice trembles at the cusp of laughter, and Merlin looks at him, startled. "When you make some noise, you ought to make it clear."

Merlin laughs first. Arthur follows behind, and Merlin  _feels_  the laugh tumbling out of him.

"I was surprised that you remember," Arthur says, breathless.

"Of course," Merlin replies easily, suffused with warmth. "Like Morgana said- we used to sing that song all the time."

Arthur's grin is brilliant. "We had some good times."

Merlin takes a breath, and then a leap. "Nobody knows you like me, Arthur."

Arthur opens his mouth, as though to answer, but quickly closes it and holds up his phone. Merlin tries not to, but unconsciously his gaze drifts to the screen of the phone.

"It's my dad," Arthur says, though he knows Merlin saw the Caller I.D. Merlin looks down, gaze hooded- as always, the moment didn't last.

In his palm, the phone rings, and Arthur lets it. When it grows silent, Arthur turns his head and meets Merlin's gaze, eyes wide.

"I saw what you did back there." Arthur clears his throat before continuing. "With my dad."

Merlin feels hope brimming to the surface, tickling his skin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The corner of Arthur's mouth twitches. "And I'm grateful. I am. But.. you don't need to do that anymore."

It means more than it should, that small dismissal. Merlin shrugs and tries not to let it show, but his voice breaks when he speaks. "I want to," he says, helpless.

Arthur chews on his lip, as though weighing his words. "You don't need to anymore, Merlin. It's... we're not enemies. Not anymore."

"That's great," Merlin says, voice weak.

"Isn't it?" To Merlin, Arhur's voice sounds a little desperate. "I mean, we're finally able to have a conversation without going at each other's throats. He  _accepts_  me."

He sounds like a child who attained something far away and glittering, flushed with pleasure and disbelief. Merlin is reminded of the younger man he met years ago, uncertain and rough around the edges but with endearingly crooked front teeth and-

[  _"Really?" Doubt and disbelief in his voice and in the way he holds himself, poised as though about to run. "You- you don't mind?"_ ]

-soft underneath all the defenses and the built-up walls. Merlin had to tear them down, years of callousness and self-preservation and swallowing his fathers' rejection. Merlin had to convince him-

[  _"What do you mean?" Soft puzzlement in the line between his brows, kindness in his incredible blue eyes. "Of course it's okay to talk. I'll listen."_  ]

-that his father was wrong about him, and that his acceptance didn't matter; not at all.

Now Merlin nods, mouth dry, because it seems he didn't do as well a job as he thought. As soon as Uther gave Arthur an inch, he took it, the years of disappointment forgotten; and despite himself, Merlin thinks he understands.

"Merlin?"

He starts, both at the sound and at the way Arthur says his name, extremely soft.

"Yeah?" says Merlin, frightened at his own sudden vulnerability.

Arthur's eyes crinkle at the corners, all affection. He hits Merlin on the arm. "You should eat. Build up your strength."

"Sure," says Merlin, though he doubts eating will help at all.

Arthur sighs, looking down at his shoes. "Do you understand what I'm saying, though?" And Merlin recognizes Arthur's sigh as defeat, as giving up on being soft, on coaxing words out of Merlin that he'd rather not say himself.

And then he says it: "You don't need to protect me anymore."

Merlin swallows against a lump that wasn't in his throat a moment before. "Your loss."

It's supposed to be light, but it doesn't come out that way. Arthur looks at him strangely, confused or mystified. "I don't get it. You should be grateful."

Merlin's brow wrinkles, confused even through the haze of dismay. "Why would I be grateful?"

"It's not easy, dealing with me." Arthur's voice grows louder, violent as he bashes himself. "I know what I'm like. I know what I put you through. So why aren't you glad to be rid of me?"

Merlin feels his bottom lip start to tremble and he bites down on it. "Because I'm not like you."

It's brutal, the first honest thing he's said to Arthur all weekend; the first honest thing he's said to him in a long time. Arthur's eyes widen in surprise, because Merlin isn't  _like_ this, and Merlin is surprised too; but he doesn't regret it, and he feels strangely light.

Arthur's mouth tightens and a muscle twitches in his jaw. "I deserve that."

Merlin nods, the motion severe. He stares at his shoes, the pavement, the buildings opposite them, anywhere but at Arthur.

"Don't- don't be like that. Please, Merlin." Arthur sounds helpless, and the tone doesn't match him. "I didn't want you to think- everything I just said, it came out wrong. I don't want you to think that I'm not grateful for everything you've done for me. And I don't just mean now- I mean everything, always. I know- I  _know_ how much you've done. You listened to me and you  _fixed_  me and... God- do you think I ever could have turned out alright, if it wasn't for you?"

He speaks quickly, barely pausing to take a breath, and it seems that he runs out because Merlin hears him suck in a lungful of air. Merlin's own chest feels tight, his heart clattering around the too-small space.

"Come on, Merlin." It's a plea, Arthur's  _pleading_ , and it all seems too impossible. "You know that I know all that, right?"

Merlin considers nodding, saying "yes" and letting Arthur sit back and roll his shoulders and give himself permission to relax. But he doesn't.

"I don't know," says Merlin, choosing instead to continue this honest streak. "I mean- you don't say so. How can I know?"

"You never needed me to say anything to be able to know what I'm thinking," says Arthur, also honest, and it shakes Merlin to the core.

But Merlin stays strong- he forces himself not to crumble under Arthur's unintentional affection, not to yield as he always does; not when he is so close to getting  _something_  from Arthur, to letting him know some semblance of the truth.

"You still need to say so, sometimes." Merlin stumbles, swallows and starts again. "You still need to say things, when they're important. You need to  _show_  things... when it matters, when it's needed."

He didn't mean to think of  _that_ \- his intent couldn't have been further from the topic, but now it's at the forefront of his mind. Merlin frowns, suddenly angry with himself, because the last thing he needs is  _this_  on top of everything else.

"I'm..." Arthur huffs, then looks up at the sky as though it held some sort of answer, then back at Merlin, and his jaw ticks in a way that suggests frustration with himself.

"I'm still angry with you, you know." A half-chuckle escapes him, but it's either that or crying. "You didn't come."

"Merlin," breathes Arthur, and it sounds tortured.

"You didn't even call me." Helpless to the tide of the words, Merlin goes on. "You didn't do anything. I expected- I expected you to come."

"I  _couldn't_ ," Arthur says, hoarse. "It was horrible of me, but it was still too close- too close to everything. I couldn't."

"If you couldn't come, you should have called." Merlin's voice is steady, impersonal and detached from him. "My father died, and I didn't even get so much as a phone call."

"Fuck," Arthur curses softly.

Merlin blinks back the emotion that stings at his eyes. "You don't treat me too well, you know."

Arthur is quiet, subdued. "I know."

"You treat me like shit, actually."

"God, I don't mean to." His eyes are blue and vulnerable. "I don't mean a single shit thing I do to you, or say, I don't mean  _any_  of it, you have no idea-"

Arthur broke off, choked. Despite himself, despite everything, Merlin is curious. "No idea... what?"

Arthur shakes his head. "I don't want to go back to that," he says, wide eyes on Merlin. "To your dad dying and me not being there. To you finding out about my wedding a few days before. To- to  _needing_  you and not having you here."

The air is too thin, not enough. Forgetting for a moment that he is outside, Merlin thinks wildly that he needs to get out and get a proper breath.

If Arthur notices this state, he doesn't comment. "After this, it'll be different, won't it? We'll be in each other's lives."

Merlin pictures Arthur as Mithian's husband, and remembers Lance's words:  _tell him how you feel, or say goodbye._

"I don't think I can do that," Merlin whispers, a breath of truth.

Arthur's eyes widen, hurt and bewildered, and Merlin only has time for a sharp intake of breath before Arthur pushes himself off the wall and disappears, pace clipped and angry.

* * *

" _Strawberries_. Definitely strawberries."

"On cake?" Merlin pretends to wince. "Why would you have fruit on cake when you can have  _anything_  else- like, I don't know, chocolate?"

"Strawberries are better than anything and everything else," Freya argues, chin up. "Better than all the chocolate in the  _world_! And  _you_ , Merlin Emrys, can suck it."

They stand on the curb, Freya leaning on her car, the light breeze stirring her hair. They've been standing like this for nearly an hour. Initially, Merlin was depressed at the thought of doing anything that didn't involve going back to his hotel room and sleeping the weekend away. But Mithian asked three times, and Merlin didn't have the heart to say "no" more than twice, so he found himself tucked into Freya's car and whisked away to some remote bakery.

Arthur and Mithian went in, the latter saying they'd check on the cake and be right out. Initially, Merlin was sullen; Arthur was still angry with him. He could see it in every deliberate stride, in the permanent twist of his mouth. In addition, Morgana couldn't make it more bearable; she was assigned to Sophia and Vivian, and the three of them were checking on the hall for the rehearsal dinner the next night.

And so Merlin sat, then stood, sullenly. But Freya, it seemed, was an extroadinary conversationalist- once she'd come out of her shell. They started talking about music, then movies, then literature, then food, and eventually: cake.

Now Merlin eyes her, mock-critically. "Are you a vegetarian?"

"No," Freya rolls her eyes. "Besides, even if I was a vegetarian, I could eat chocolate."

Merlin shakes his head in disapproval. "You're not normal."

Freya hits him on the arm, expression outraged, and they both laugh. "No, really," Merlin continues. "Who would prefer a cake with fruit to a cake with chocolate?"

"Me, alright?" Freya's cheeks are rosy, from both the chill and laughter.

Merlin takes notice of this. On impulse, he pulls off his jacket and holds it up to her. Freya raises her eyebrows, and he shrugs in explanation. "You look cold."

She smiles as she takes it from him, pushing her arms through the sleeves. Merlin smiles too; she looks funny but endearing, small in the jacket.

"Thank you," says she.

"Eh. It won't do much, it's pretty light."

"Still. Thanks."

"No problem." Merlin tucks his hands into his pockets and leans onto the car beside her, and when he looks at Freya, she's holding up one sleeve of his jacket to her face.

Merlin raises a brow in question, and Freya's lips quirk. "Um. It's a very unique jacket."

"...Really?"

"Oh, yes. A very interesting color..."

The topic merges naturally into taste in clothing, and the two are deep in that conversation when Arthur and Mithian emerge from the bakery.

Merlin immediately assesses Arthur; his shoulders are hunched forward, eyes on the ground, and he looks more irritated than before. Merlin hopes it's not because of him.

"Wow." Freya seems to be doing the same to Mithian, but Mithian only looks slightly ruffled. "How long does it take to check on a cake?"

"We encountered a slight problem." Mithian tries to smile, but the end result is weak. "I don't wanna talk about it. We fixed it, though... are we late for the museum?"

"A bit," Freya answers truthfully. "Mithian, you sure you're alright?..."

A moment later, Freya has hooked her arm through her friend's and pulled her a few feet away, obviously concerned. Arthur freezes when he realizes that he and Merlin are alone, but Merlin is quicker; he seizes the opportunity before Arthur can turn away.

"Wait." Merlin grabs Arthur's forearm, but releases him at Arthur's hot glare. His words from last night return-  _Don't touch me_ \- but Merlin pushes them away, needing to focus.

"I didn't mean it that way," Merlin says, too quickly. "It's not that I don't want to-"

"It's alright, Merlin." Arthur's voice is a little too loud. "We don't need to talk about this."

"Yes, we do," Merlin says, desperate. "Because I didn't mean to say that I don't want to be in each other's lives. In fact, what I  _do_  want-"

"Is to finish school in peace." The set of Arthur's mouth is hard and smug. "Should've known."

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin breathes, but before he can say more Arthur is walking away.

"Come  _on_ , Mithian," he says, then softer: "We're late. We should go."

Mithian nods and stands by Arthur, tossing Merlin a smile as she moves to her car. It is a moment before Arthur follows.

"Arthur?" Mithian calls through the open window of the car, puzzled. "What are you doing?"

"Coming," he calls, snapping into motion, and Merlin catches his moment of indecision; Arthur was staring at Merlin's jacket, wrapped around Freya's shoulders.

* * *

The Museo Picasso Malaga is certainly interesting, but not interesting enough to keep Merlin from seeking solitude with Morgana.

They stand outside, a cigarette between them. What they've abandoned consists of stuffy old women who pretend to be knowledgable, bored bridesmaids who barely glance at the paintings between texts, frustrated men who rush through the displays to get out as quickly as they can, a sunny bride who tries keep everything together, and a sullen groom who wonders at the meaning of a few simple words.

"I feel like I've been standing outside all day," Merlin complains.

"Shady, Merlin Emrys," Morgana says around a puff of smoke.

Merlin looks at her. "Did you have too much wine at lunch?"

"Not nearly enough," she grumbles. " _You_ didn't have to spend nearly two hours with that idiot, Vivian. God, she's irritating."

Merlin frowns. "You didn't have to spend nearly two hours knowing that Arthur was angry with you."

Morgana's face falls. "Oh, Merlin."

"He thinks I don't want to be in his life," Merlin confides miserably. "At  _all_."

"God." Morgana laughs wryly. "Could he be any more self-deluded?"

"He's still angry with me," Merlin says, the mist in his head clearing. "He's been for years, and I don't think he realizes it. I can see that know. It's why he's misunderstanding everything I'm saying."

Morgana pauses in the rhythmic motions of smoking. "Do you think so?"

"Yeah." Merlin sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. "Morgana, what do I do?"

As though in response, her hand moves up, cupping his cheek for a moment. "You're an adorable little puppy, did you know that?"

Merlin huffs, moving away from her touch. "Morgana, be serious."

Morgana arches a brow. "I am serious."

"It's Arthur you've always called a golden retriever, not me. Frankly, I'm a bit insulted."

"You're both puppies," Morgana declares with a regal wave of her hand. "Which is why you belong together."

Merlin looks at her imporingly. "And how can we make that happen?"

"I've noticed something," Morgana says thoughtfully. "You know how you and I have this natural, instinctive, mentor and student relationship, often melding into something resembling siblinghood, riddled with thoughtless affection?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Sure."

"Well. I think Arthur may have misinterpreted it." Morgana breathes in and out. "I think he thinks there's something going on between us."

" _What_?"

Morgana nods gravely, and Merlin's eyes bulge. "You're not serious."

She nods again. "I can see it. That's what he's thinking."

Merlin shakes his head. "But you're his sister... even if I wasn't gay, I wouldn't... and I  _am_  gay..."

Morgana smiles gently. "I know, sweetheart. But I also know my brother, and he's jealous."

Merlin pauses. "Why would he be jealous?"

In response, Morgana rolls her eyes. "Don't act like you haven't noticed it, too. He's jealous because he still has  _feelings for you_ , dumbarse."

The insult doesn't faze him. "Do you think so?"

"Of course I do! And you know what else?" Morgana is almost humming with energy, or victory, or something. "He's also jealous of Freya."

Merlin's brow furrows. "Freya?"

Morgana nods, the curl of her lips suggestive. "She's still wearing your jacket."

Merlin holds up his hands. "I was just being nice-"

"I know, Merlin." Morgana takes his hands and pushes them to his sides. "But Arthur doesn't. And I think there's no harm in keeping it that way."

Merlin chews on his lip, seeing her logic, but still uncertain. "Why would we do that to Arthur, though? I mean- won't it hurt him, if he still has feelings for me?"

"A little," Morgana says, both honestly and casually. "But it'll be better for both of you. Being jealous will help Arthur realize his true feelings more than anything else."

"Yeah?" Merlin murmurs, still doubtful.

Morgana places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's amazing the clarity that comes with psychotic jealousy."

Merlin grins at her phrasing. "What would I do without you?"

"Wither and die, probably," Morgana states, matter-of-factedly. "Listen. I've got to go to the loo. Wait for me here?"

Merlin nods, and Morgana whisks herself away.

* * *

She passes through the silent halls with her head held high, heels clacking against the hard floors. Her mind is full of Merlin and Arthur and Morgause and the ever-present reminder to buy more cigarette, but primarily the need to visit the loo. So she moves quicker, head swinging from side to side, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone so as to ask them where the restrooms were.

She turns a corner and almost crashes into someone. " _Oh_." She looks up, vaguely annoyed, then grins. "Arthur."

"Morgana."

Morgana watches him hesitantly return the smile, and she'll never admit it, but it hurts her in more ways than one. Arthur doesn't trust her, and maybe that's for the best. But he's also sad _, genuinely_ upset, the unhappiness etched across his face.

"You alright?"

Arthur doesn't answer directly. "Bored, is all. I can't remember why exactly we're  _here_..."

"Mithian's relatives," Morgana reminds him. "Speaking of whom, why aren't you with her?"

Arthur's eyes narrow. "Why aren't you with Merlin?"

"I was," Morgana says, delighting in saying it. "But I'm taking a small break."

Arthur nods. Then his hand moves, tucking something behind his back, trying to be discreet; and Morgana reaches for it, grinning.

"Your attempt at being sneaky is adorable," she croons.

"Get away, you harpy." He pushes at her, half-playful. Morgana seizes the thing in his hand- a paper- and Arthur's face falls.

"Come on, it can't be that bad," Morgana says as she unfolds the paper; a pamphlet for the museum that he probably picked up while entering.

On the bottom corner, a small phrase is etched, left unmistakeably by Arthur's hand.

_Arthur + M_

Morgana stares at Arthur until he lifts his head, until his eyes meet hers. When she speaks, her voice is low, barely a whisper.

"Who's name were you gonna write?"

Arthur's mouth opens, then closes, and Morgana smiles in triumph.

"I like the two of you together," Morgana states, pressing the paper into Arthur's hands, and enjoying the way his eyes widen before promptly walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it- please leave your thoughts in a review!


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took so long to get this to you! I'm going to be responding to your comments pretty soon- I've been swamped recently, and I figured you guys would rather I use my free time to write than to answer comments. But I promise I'll get around to it! And I've definitely read them all, more than once, even- your comments keep me going, and each one makes my day!
> 
> Enjoy part 3!

Gwen's arms are warm and familiar around him, and for a moment Merlin forgets where he is and what's happened, the stress and disappointment of the entire weekend washed away.

"Gwen," he says, not able to say much else, because he's so happy, so grateful.

"Merlin." She pulls back after what feels like an eternity, and Merlin blinks, missing her embrace.

But then Lance swoops in, his hold on Merlin firm and strong, and Merlin feels that surge of gratitude again. Lance is one of the few blokes who allows Merlin to hug him without fearing that Merlin will fall helplessly in love with him, or else develop an instant boner- and the thought is ridiculous, Merlin knows, but so is nearly everything homophobia entails.

"Save some for the rest of us, eh?"

Merlin jumps at the proximity of the voice, and pulls back, rather reluctantly, though he knows Arthur wasn't addresssing him. Well, he  _was_ ; but his intent was to greet Lance, which he does, stepping forward and shaking his hand. But then Lance grins and pulls Arthur in for a hug, too, and Merlin feels a smile tugging at his mouth, because just then it's easy to pretend that they're in a pub in London, rather than a pub in Madrid, the four of them about to spend a night on the town as they so frequently used to do.

Arthur hugs Gwen next, the embrace lingering. Merlin thinks he sees tears in Gwen's eyes, and he's about to reach over and grab her hand, maybe smile to reassure her; but Lance beats him to it, and Merlin takes a step back, content.

"Been a while, yeah?" Arthur says, adorable and awkward.

"That's the understatement of the  _century_ ," Gwen says, a shaky laugh following. "We haven't seen you in forever, Arthur."

"I know." Arthur frowns, then quickly remedies it with a smile that looks too forced. "But you'll love Mithian. She's just gone to the loo."

"That's alright," Gwen says, with a sideways glance at Merlin.

"First round on me?" Morgana offers, and Arthur seems to slump forward with relief, gesturing wildly towards the bartender. Merlin exchanges a glance with Morgana over the line of Arthur's shoulders, and she looks as confused as he feels. But she shrugs a second later, dismissing the issue and leaning forward to order a series of drinks in proficient Spanish.

"Arthur." Gwen's hand on his shoulder, though gentle, makes him start. She smiles and graciously pretends not to notice. "How've you been?"

"Swell," answers Arthur, a bit of an edge to his voice. Merlin frowns; he's used to Arthur being an insufferable prat with  _him_ , but poor Gwen hasn't done anything to merit this sort of behavior.

Gwen shares an uncertain glance with Lance, which does not go unmissed; Morgana promptly hits Arthur on the arm.

"Is that  _all_ you're going to say?" she glares.

" _Shit_ , Morgana." He rubs at his arm, turning to Gwen. "I'm sorry, Guinivere. There just isn't much to say... what about  _you_?" With an expertise inherited from his father, he redirects the question. "How're you and Lance?"

If Gwen is disappointed at Arthur's avoidance, she doesn't show it. Instead, she beams, launching into a quick debriefing of their lives, pausing occasionally to give Lance room for his own input. They work like a well-oiled machine, not  _interrupting_  each other but measuring each other, knowing each other, somehow sensing when the other is going to speak, and perhaps what they're going to say. Merlin watches them and feels both warmed and jealous.

When Lance is going over how difficult it was to adjust being on-call with marriage, Gwen petting his arm all the while and saying it wasn't that bad, not for  _her_  at least, and he shouldn't worry, Morgana quirks a brow at Arthur.

"Ready to back out yet, Arthur?"

Merlin takes a look at her and knows she's only half-teasing, perhaps not teasing at all. And Arthur knows it too, because his cheeks are flushed and he's glaring. "You're hilarious, Morgana."

"What?" She bats her eyelashes, faux-innocent. "It's not too late."

Arthur holds Morgana's gaze for one tense moment before looking away with a grunt, muttering under his breath. Morgana turns to Merlin and rolls her eyes, to which Merlin shakes his head fervently and mouths "too far" (though he isn't sure that it  _is_ , really), and Morgana is about to stick out her tongue at him when she catches Gwen's disapproving glare.

"Mithian's been long," Arthur says, standing and not meeting anyone's eyes. "I'm going to check on her."

"You can't  _go_  to the women's room, Arthur,"' Morgana points out, but Arthur either doesn't hear her or chooses not to care, because he strides across the dark room with purpose in his stride.

When Morgana turns back to her friends, she finds Gwen's mouth slightly open and Lance's brow furrowed. Morgana stares at them. " _What_?"

"Is this how you've been  _all_  weekend?" Somehow, from Gwen, it sounds like an accusation.

"If by that you mean since  _yesterday_ , then yes," says Morgana, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that doesn't at all look defensive.

Lance glances at Arthur's empty seat. "No wonder he looked like he wanted to kill himself."

"That's not because of  _me_ ," Morgana states. "That's because he's miserable, because he lives a nomadic half-life, because he's marrying someone  _other_  than the person he loves."

Here, Morgana looks pointedly at Merlin- and so do Gwen and Lance. Merlin's hit by the urge to crawl under the table and hide.

But Lance dispells that irrational urge with his calm eyes, his hand moving to rest on Merlin's for a moment. "Have you done it yet?"

Merlin suspects that Lance already knows the answer, and wonders why he's bothering to ask. "No," he says, miserably.

Lance pats his hand once, twice. "Take your time."

An impatient huff comes from Morgana's direction. "He doesn't  _have_  time. Tomorrow's Saturday! And after  _that_  is Sunday. Or am I the only person who remembers that we're here for a wedding?"

Gwen tilts her head, giving Morgana a disappointed look that would put Gaius's to shame. "If this is going to happen, Morgana, it has to happen naturally."

"Bullshit," Morgana says.

"Enough people are going to get hurt as it is," Gwen continues, not at all cowed.

"But he's so goddamned  _blind_ -"

"And you really think that pushing him is going to help-"

" _Excuse me_."

Both girls turn to Merlin, eyes blazing and mouth slightly open, arguments on the tip of their tongues. When they catch sight of him, however, they both look down guiltily, and Merlin wonders fleetingly how much of his heart he's wearing on his sleeve.

He pushes the thought away, concentrates. "This is my business, and Arthur's." A name nags at his mind, and he lets it win. "Mithian's too, maybe, but that's  _it_. As much as I appreciate what you're trying to do, it's really only our business, and... we should really handle it alone."

Merlin sucks in a breath, hoping they wouldn't hate him. It's not that he doesn't appreciate their help- especially Morgana's, her companionship and support, and he's definitely enjoyed feeling like co-conspiritors or partners in crime; Morgana always manages to make things more fun. But the last thing Merlin wants is further division, and he  _won't_  let Gwen and Morgana argue over this. Not for his sake.

Gwen's reaction is to nod, eyes downcast. But Morgana looks incredulous. "I was trying to help," she says, sounding insulted.

"I know, I know, I swear." Merlin feels the beginnings of an onslaught of a headache. "I just..."

Merlin doesn't get a chance to continue, because Arthur chooses that moment to appear, leading Mithian with towards them with one arm.

They exchange greetings, Gwen and Lance exhibiting their genuine kindness and Mithian looking delighted. The fine lines around Arthur's eyes and mouth ease, just a bit, and Merlin almost smiles- but then he remembers the reason for Arthur's relief and his stomach sinks.

"I'm delighted to meet you all," Mithian says, her bright smile proof enough. Gwen smiles back, clearly taken, and Merlin feels his stomach sink further.

They sit around the table and Mithian orders a drink. The conversation flows with surprising ease between Mithian and Gwen- at least, it's surprising to Merlin, though it occurs to him that it shouldn't be. Gwen is the kindest person he knows, followed by Lance, who gives his own input to the conversation. Eventually even Morgana is drawn in, and Merlin and Arthur are the only ones still silent.

It becomes obvious after a few minutes, their abstinence from speaking. Merlin glances at Arthur from above the rim of his glass and finds Arthur's head ducked, as though knowing there's a chance Merlin might be looking at him, and taking every precaution to ensure their eyes don't meet.

Merlin sucks in a breath, holds it, and tries to count. He's angry- angry at Arthur's tendency to avoid things rather than face them, angry at himself for letting Arthur reach such a point when he should be trying to win his heart. Morgana's words come back to him;  _he doesn't have time_ , and Merlin swallows and counts again.

Gently, as she does everything, Mithian tries to draw Arthur into their conversation. "Your friends are lovely, Arthur. I wish I'd met them before."

Gwen beams, then catches herself and schools her face into a more casual expression. Something like guilt twists in Merlin's gut.

"They are," Arthur answers, a mumble around the rim of his glass.

"When are the rest of them coming?" Mithian goes on, insistent.

Arthur sighs and surrenders. "Leon's coming later tonight."

Mithian looks pleased. "That's fantastic! He's been your friend since childhood, yeah?"

Arthur nods, not appeasing her with a verbal answer this time. His hand comes to rest at the edge of the table, his fingers drumming restlessly, and-

_( "You've got tells." A grin, wide and shameless, like the cat who ate the cream. "For example. You start tapping your fingers whenever you're getting ready to leave somewhere you don't want to be. Always with a horrendous excuse, too." )_

\- despite himself, Merlin smiles. Some things, it seems, don't change.

Sure enough, Arthur stands a moment later. "Need some air," he says to the table as a whole, sweeping from the room before anyone can speak.

Looking at the chair he just occupied, Gwen frowns. "Is he alright?"

"Sure," Mithian says, smile tight.

"Maybe someone should check on him," Gwen says, her eyes flitting to Merlin. But before any of them can suggest it- Merlin expects it from Lance, Gwen, or Morgana, whose mouth is already open- Mithian squares her shoulders and does the deed.

"Merlin," she starts, eyes entreating. "Would you?"

Again, Merlin is struck with the irony of the fact that it's Mithian who's asking this of him,  _Mithian_  who wants this. He nods as he gets to his feet.

"I'll take care of him," he says, speaking more to himself than to them. Gwen still looks worried, and Merlin sends her a small smile meant to be reassuring. He's telling the truth.

He finds Arthur outside, leaning against the wall of the building. He looks just as Merlin must have earlier that day, when it was him in this position. For a moment, Merlin marvels at the repetition and the irony of it all. It's certainly been the strangest and most taxing weekend of his life.

"Must you be so irritating?"

It jerks Merlin's attention back to the present. Arthur's looking at him now, eyes glinting in the dark. His mouth is a hard, stubborn line.

"Arthur," Merlin starts, not knowing where he's taking it. "You  _know_  I didn't mean it that way."

Arthur's expression doesn't budge, face carved from stone as he turns his head away. Merlin swallows and tries again.

"You know how I..." Merlin trails off, itching to merge that sentence with what's in his heart. But Arthur's jaw is clenched and Merlin knows it deosn't bode well. "You know that I want to be in your life. It's not that I  _don't_."

Arthur nods jerkily. "School is more important. I understand, Merlin."

"Then why are you angry?" Merlin closes his eyes for a split second, hating how he sounds like a petulant child.

"I'm not," Arthur says airily, lifting his jaw and sticking his nose in the air. It's reminicent of the cocky, self-important boy Merlin met years ago, and it makes his fingers itch to curl into fists.

"You  _are_ ," Merlin says, and there must be something in his voice because Arthur turns to look at him, both wary and surprised. "You're angry at me, for doing something as... as expected as going back home."

Arthur's shoulders stiffen. "I'm not angry."

"I don't under _stand_." Merlin feels his eyes widen and his control slip, just a little. "I came here, to another country, for your wedding-  _right_  when you called me."

Arthur says nothing. He's not even looking at Merlin anymore. "You needed me, and I  _came_. That's more than you've done."

Arthur winces. For a split second, Merlin feels guilty for bringing it up  _again_ \- twice is one day is too much, especially when it hasn't been discussed at all in years. But Arthur's jaw hardens, again, and the window of vulnerability has passed, and Arthur's closed up again.

"You're mixing things that have nothing to do with each other,  _Mer_ lin."

"I'm not." Merlin shakes his head and he wonders, dimly, where all this recklessness is coming from. "It's all- it's all the same thing. It's- do you want me to live in Spain? Is that it?"

Arthur's still closed off, refusing to look at him. Merlin resists the urge to reach across the space between them and jerk his chin,  _make_  Arthur see him. He knows it's what he'll have to do, one way or another, eventually. But he's not ready, not quite yet.

" _Is that what you want_?" Merlin tries again, firmer. "Do you even plan on living in Spain, then?"

"Yes- well, for a while." Arthur sounds uncertain, for the first time, and Merlin would feel bad for him if he wasn't still refusing to meet his eyes.

"So you're giving up your job- your dream, then?" Merlin marvels at the steadiness of his voice; he should be shaking, he knows, at the meaning of this revelation, but he can't register much beyond the ringing in his ears.

"Not for long," Arthur snaps. "I'll still write. Eventually..."

"What? Eventually, you'll travel again?"

"I  _guess_ -"

"So you want me to leave school, move here, then pick up when you start travelling and follow you around? You and your  _wife_?" Merlin thinks he might be yelling, but he doesn't really care. "Does that sound normal to you?"

"That's not-"

"I don't understand you." Merlin's throat feels dry, unbearably so, but he fights through it, fights through the sting in his eyes. "You wanted to escape your father, so you left the bloody country. And you didn't care what you left behind."

Arthur's eyes, still averted, soften. "Merlin-"

Merlin doesn't give him a chance. "You left all your friends. Your sister.  _Me_. And you're living the life of a fugitive, on the run- through from  _what_ , I'll never understand."

Arthur's gaze goes hard again, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "You don't know what you're talking about."

" _You're_  the one who doesn't know. You have no idea what you're doing."

"Shut up."

"Do you have the slightest idea what you're moving towards? What you  _want_?"

"Merlin-"

"Do you want me to stay in Spain, to be your best friend, to leave you alone? Do you want Mithian? Do you-"

Teeth clashing together. "Shut  _up_."

" _What do you want from me?_ "

It's an anguished cry more than anything else, and it seems to trigger something in Arthur. He looks at Merlin, finally, eyes wide but still wary. He looks lost, confused. He opens his mouth but says nothing.

Merlin closes his eyes for a moment, almost resting. His voice is small when he speaks, all the fight knocked out of him by Arthur's look. "You want me to do something, I don't know what... and somehow- somehow, giving you everything isn't enough."

Arthur swallows, and Merlin watches the movement of his Adam's Apple under the thin skin of his throat.

He doesn't know what he wants Arthur to do, but he doesn't expect him to shuffle his feet awkwardly and, with a complicated four-step maneuver, make his way to the door of the pub while managing to avoid Merlin completely.

Arthur jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "We should go back inside."

Merlin blinks at him.

"Did you  _hear_  what I said?" Arthur's tone is mildly irritated, but familiar.

"Did  _you_?" Merlin retorts.

Arthur runs a hand through his hair. "Look. Let's just- we've kept them waiting a while."

"What does that mean, though?"

Arthur sighs. "I don't- it means we're alright, I guess. Idiot."

Merlin blinks again, letting Arthur reach over to grab his shoulder and pull him in through the pub door.

Arthur makes half-assed excuses as Merlin settles into his seat, but they're all smooth and charming. Arthur's not sulking anymore, and Merlin's struck with  _how_ s and  _why_ s- but they're quickly dismissed as Merlin decides that it's too much to try to fathom Arthur out with a headache- and with so much whiskey available to him, too. Merlin gestures for another glass while the din of conversation steadily rises around him. Presently, Gwen's clear ring of laughter hits the air.

Merlin takes a quick sip, the first sting of alcohol steadying his nerves. And in the wake of it, he registers that he feels  _better_ \- purged somewhat, by his honesty.

Merlin feels a touch on his shoulder. He doesn't start; it's Arthur, he knows it. He turns and finds Arthur looking at him, the corners of his mouth curled in a small, private smile that makes Merlin's insides feel like warm butter.

* * *

"You like her."

"I do not!"

" _Gwen_. You like her."

It's only half an accusation, but Gwen looks indignant. Merlin holds up two hands, placating. "It's alright. If I didn't have to hate her, I'd  _love_  her."

Gwen rolls her eyes. "You don't hate her."

And just like that, they've come full circle.

Merlin and Gwen are sitting in his room, a bed of wrappers for ridiculously overpriced chocolate between them. He just finished hashing over the events of the weekend with her, concluding with a bleary summary of their half-reconciliation outside the bar. It seems that everything with Arthur is cut in half now; half apologies and half glances, words half meant, half gestures that mean more than they are. Half of Arthur. Maybe half is all Merlin is entitled to, now. The thought makes him sick.

A wine bottle makes its way back and forth, and Merlin revels in the buzz. He drank a lot that day, Merlin knows, and he  _should_  be shit-faced; but, somehow, he's sitting upright and drinking some more, with enough self-awareness to bite into truffles.

" _Mmmm_." It's a moan and a hum as he moves the ball of chocolate around in his mouth. "Dis good."

"Go slow," Gwen admonishes, even as she reaches for one.

Merlin scoffs, the sound distorted around the chocolate. "Like  _that_  ever got me anywhere."

"Oh, Merlin." Gwen sighs, eyes downcast, and she looks like she wants to say more; but then she bites her lip and extends a hand, asking wordlessly for the wine, which Merlin reluctantly gives up.

"You like her, and she's perfect." Merlin suddenly has a hard time swallowing the chocolate; his throat feels too full. "I'm fucked."

"Love, don't say that." Gwen's hand finds his. "You're  _great_. One of a kind."

"So's she," Merlin says, sullenly.

"Never known you to be a quitter." There's a definite challenge in Gwen's eyes. "No matter how great she is, you can take her."

" _See_? You're admitting it!"

"I am not!"

"You said she's great."

Gwen rolls her eyes. "Don't be a child, Merlin."

"I'm drunk. Let me be."

Gwen rolls her eyes again; they both know he's not drunk. But Merlin gives himself a moment to slip under that guise, the act that allows him to be openly miserable.

"Listen." Gwen's voice is serious now, and Merlin looks up. "I wouldn't want to be competing with Mithian for anyone's affections, alright? I'll admit it's tough. She's got some perks, and she's a nice person, but... I've never known anyone like you, Merlin."

Merlin pauses. "You'd probably win," he says, giving Gwen a half-smile.

"I'm  _serious_ , Merlin. From what you've told me..." She pauses, face screwed up, then seems to surrender to something inside of her. "It looks like he's fighting feelings for you."

Merlin brightens; he knows Gwen wouldn't say this lightly. "Really?"

She nods. "Now eat some chocolate. Cheer up."

His mumble of assent, formed around a particularily delicious truffle, is cut off when a series of hard knocks descend on the door. Merlin's brow furrows and he rises a little reluctantly, crossing to and opening the door.

" _Merlin_."

Mithian is standing there, looking breathless and frantic. Merlin glances almost guiltily from the bed of chocolate wrappers on the bed. He swallows the sweet clump in his mouth and tries to regain a modicum of dignity.

"Um, yes, Mithian. What's the problem?"

"I'm really sorry to ask this of you." Mithian wrings her hands and bites her lip, and she certainly  _looks_  sorry. "It's just that, I woke up Morgana from her nap, and she's downright terrifying when she's annoyed. Oh, hello, Gwen."

Merlin holds back a laugh, and Gwen waves from her perch. "Okay, what is it?"

"Freya and the girls were in charge of wrapping up a few gift baskets for tomorrow's luncheon," Mithian starts. "I went to check on them, and apparently they brought a few bottles of wine for company... in any case, they're completely plastered. And I need someone to make sure they get into their rooms safe."

Merlin nods. "I can do that."

" _Thank_  you." Mithian exhales in relief. "I'd do it myself, but I've got to meet with Mr. Aredian, and he's waiting for me in the lobby, and well I don't  _want_ to but I shouldn't keep him waiting. And Arthur's picking up Leon..."

Merlin waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

"Thanks." She beams. "Morgana's with them now, in Conference Room F on the main floor."

"Alright. I'll be down there in a bit."

Mithian smiles again and expresses her gratitude, then vanishes as quickly as she appeared.

Gwen rises from the bed. "I'll help."

Merlin takes one look at her and shakes his head. "You should get some rest."

Gwen tries to protest around a yawn, and Merlin rolls his eyes. " _Gwen_. Go. Go to bed."

"But I want to help," she says, blinking sleep from her eyes. "You need your rest, too."

"It'll just be a minute." Merlin smiles, forcing his usual brightness into it. His hands cup Gwen's shoulders and push her to the door. "Go on now. Go."

She throws him a doubtful look over her shoulder. "Don't take too long. You hear?"

"Yes,  _Mum_." Merlin rolls his eyes, and Gwen smiles, reassured, before leaving the room.

It takes Merlin more than ten minutes to find Conference Room F. A map directs him through a maze of corridors, but he decides that it must not be very accurate when he gets lost the third time; and his Spanish is shit, so he can't ask for directions. After much grumbling and almost turning back, he finds it. It's one of those hidden, barely used rooms in the bowels of the hotel, where there aren't even any bellhops lingering around. Merlin quickly finds out why; a draft makes itself obvious as soon as he enters, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Merlin. Thank  _God_."

Merlin opens his mouth to respond, but Morgana breezes past him. "Good Lord, can't I get any fucking  _sleep_  around here?" He catches a glimpse of a red sleep mask caught in her hair before she's gone, turning a corner somewhere behind him.

" _Merlin_!"

It's a high giggle from Sophia. Merlin starts when he looks at her, laying face down on an unstable-looking table, her legs almost completely hanging off.

He moves to her. "Get down from there, you'll hurt yourself."

"'M fine," she mumbles, but lets herself be manhandled until she's sitting on the floor.

Freya is sitting in a similar position, leaning against the opposite wall. Around her are closed boxes and empty baskets and pristine rolls of wrapping paper, and Merlin realizes they didn't get anything done. Vivian is reclining on a chair, a bottle hanging lazily from her fingertips.

Merlin groans inwardly; they look positively smashed. Freya's eyes droop, close to sleep, but Vivian is glaring at him.

He's wondering how he's going to get the three of them upstairs- if he should leave and ask for help- when Vivian speaks. "I thought you'd be cuter."

Freya inhales sharply, raises her head as though to say something, then seems to forget about it as her eyes droop again.

Merlin shifts, slightly uncomfortable- he knows Vivian's drunk, and that she's naturally prone to unpleasantness, but her gaze is hot. "Let's get you upstairs."

"No." Vivian stands and makes her slow, stumbling way to him, and more than once Merlin reaches out to steady her. When she reaches him, she stares him right in the eye though she sways dangerously.

"I don't like you." Vivian's staring at him with something hard glinting beneath her half-open lids, her breath a putrid puff on his face. "You- you've got  _some_ thing, with Arthur."

"Oops." The distinct sound of something shattering reaches Merlin's ears, but Merlin can't look at Sophia- not when Vivian sounds so  _sober_ , so full of disgust.

"And you're trying something," Vivian goes on. "And Arthur's- Arthur's mine."

" _Viv_." Freya's tone would be menacing if she was sober, but it comes off as a slur.

"Arthur's  _cute_ ," Sophia giggles, and Merlin wonders wildly how many of this insane wedding party were trying to claim Arthur for themselves. He wonders if he should count himself among them.

"I should really get you to your room." Merlin tries to keep his voice even, and he tells himself he succeeded, no matter the little tremble.

He steps away from Vivian, focuses on getting the other girls to stand and move towards the door, his movements precise and methodical. With a grunt, he successfully props Sophia up against the wall of the corridor outside, instructs her not to move as he re-enters Conference Room F.

With a barely suppressed sigh, Merlin reaches for Vivian's arm. She recoils. "I can  _walk_."

His patience breaks. "Be my guest," he snaps.

She jerks her chin up and does just that, walking in a mostly straight line towards the door. Merlin suppresses something- a sigh, an eye roll, a scream, he isn't sure- and starts to follow her.

But he's a second too late. Vivian steps outside the room and, with surprising speed, shuts the door. Merlin lets himself sigh, now, more than cross, but when he reaches the door, it doesn't budge.

He frowns. "Open up."

If the girls are still standing behind it- and Merlin is sure that Vivian is, at least- they make no sound. Merlin bangs his fists on the door, at his patience's end. He does it again, and again- until his hands start to sting, just a bit, and he takes a step back and tries to think clearly.

He sticks his hands in his pockets, but he already knows his phone isn't there; he's left it in his room. Merlin presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and tells himself to calm down, _calm the fuck down_ ; this isn't a big deal, not really, and certainly not worth  _crying_  about. He's just tired and peeved and slightly drunk- but someone was bound to stop by sometime soon, so he hasnothing to worry about. Not really.

It works. Merlin lowers his hands to his eyes and breathes out, much calmer. He turns and surveys the room, and a frown tugs on his mouth. Those gift baskets don't look like they'll come together on their own.

* * *

"Merlin."

He hears the voice, faraway and familiar and  _warm_. Merlin stretches, reaching for it- but it's just too draining, that motion, so he lets his arm droop and keeps his eyes closed, settling back into sleep.

"Merlin? Come on, wake up."

The world starts to spin, and there's something jolting him, his shoulder. He groans, truly pissed, because he there's a chill seeping into his bones now, and he would rather remain blissfully unconscious.

" _Merlin_."

There's nothing for it; Merlin opens his eyes. The ground beneath him is hard, the air is chilly, the light is glaring. Merlin pouts, annoyed at all of this, but mostly annoyed at the fact that he's not currently asleep.

"What do you  _want_ , Arthur?" Merlin shifts his arms so that they're arranged into the most comfortable pillow he can manage. "Let me sleep."

"Merlin."

Arthur's voice is stern, that tone that won't allow argument. Merlin recognizes it, but burrows his head in his arms anyway, because he was never one to do as he's told.

He hears a sigh; feels it, too, Arthur's breath warm on his face.

"Come on." When Arthur speaks this time, his voice is much softer. His hands find purchase beneath his arms and pull him up. "Let's go, Merlin. Let's get you to bed."

Arthur's voice is subdued, calming- almost caring. Merlin could get drunk on Arthur talking like that, but the pull of sleep is stronger. "I'm  _in_ my bed. Doofus."

Another sigh, this time exasperated. "You're on the  _floor_ , Merlin. In the conference room."

Merlin opens his eyes blearily, reluctantly. One quick glance confirms that Arthur's right.

"There we go." Arthur's hand pats his cheek. "Incidentally, what are you  _doing_?"

Merlin sits up and looks around; a second later, everything comes flooding back to him. "Mithian. Gift baskets."

Arthur frowns. "What?"

Merlin huffs. "Mithian needed to meet with someone, so she sent me to check on Vi- the girls. They were... drunk."

Arthur's frown deepened. "What happened, then? Why're you still here?"

Merlin shakes his head and sits up straighter. A gust of wind from the open window hits him. "It's cold."

"Don't change the subject."

"It  _is_  cold, you insensitive dollop-head."

"It is." Arthur's eyes narrow, settle on him, studying. "What- why were you  _sleeping_  here?"

Merlin wracks his brain for something to tell Arthur- he doesn't want to tell him the  _truth_. But Arthur's eyes are trained on him, making it hard to think up a plausible lie- so he tells him some of it.

"I was exhausted by the time I sent them upstairs," Merlin says. "I just kind of... fell asleep."

Arthur's brow arches in a way Gaius would be proud of. "How did you get  _here_ , then?"

"Excuse me?"

"If you were helping the girls upstairs, you'd have  _stayed_  upstairs, fallen asleep there. Why'd you come back here?"

Merlin bites his lip. "I- um... noticed the gift baskets weren't done. Thought I'd help."

Arthur takes a look around him, looking almost surprised at the stuffed baskets, wrapped in tulle and tied off expertly. Merlin smiles. "See? Now you can go to your luncheon thing, and the gift baskets will be ready."

Arthur looks at him then, his eyes a tad bit too wide. "You did all this?"

"I already told you I did."

"And... you fell asleep at it?"

Merlin huffs. "Obviously."

Arthur frowns. "Why?"

"Because I was tired- goodness, Arthur, could we just go upstairs?"

"I mean, why'd you help out with the baskets?"

Merlin holds up his hands, exasperated. "I don't know, it was a fit of insanity. I'm really starting to regret it."

Arthur grins then, crookedly. "Alright, you big baby. Let's go."

Merlin stands, then shivers when a gust of wind hits him. Arthur eyes him for a second, something inscrutable in his eyes- but then he shakes his head, and the moment's gone.

"Honestly, Merlin." He moves to the wall, reaches for the window sill. "Only you."

"Don't bother," says Merlin. "I already tried. It's stuck."

Arthur seems to ignore him, pushing down on the window sill. Merlin sees his back tense and the muscles of his forearm bulge, and swallows.

After a terse few seconds, the window gives. Arthur turns back, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Weakling."

"Ass."

Arthur's smirk doesn't budge. His hand cups Merlin's elbow and tugs, pulling him to the door. Merlin is only too glad to follow.

"What time is it?" He asks, suddenly panicked that he won't have enough time to properly sleep, momentarily forgetting the night sky he'd seen through the window.

Arthur checks his watch-  _the watch I gave him_. Something disconcertingly like butterflies flutter in Merlin's stomach. "Four in the morning. You've got plenty of time to rest up, don't worried."

"I'm fine," he says, though he can barely manage it around a yawn.

"Clearly not," Arthur scoffs. "Thank God Mithian texted me to finish the gift baskets before turning in. You would have been half frozen by the time someone got to you."

Merlin shrugs. He hadn't really thought of it that way, and now that he's here, with  _Arthur_ , the chill of the conference room seems distant, irrelevant. Arthur's eyes follow the movement of his shoulders, and he shakes his head, pursing his lips.

"You've always taken on more than you can handle."

It sounds private, somehow, like Arthur didn't mean to say it aloud. Merlin looks at him, wondering, but doesn't comment, irrationally afraid that Arthur would take it back.

By the time they make it to the lift, Merlin can barely keep his eyes open. He stumbles, and then Arthur's hands are on him, steadying. He feels more than hears Arthur's half-exasperated, half-fond huff.

"Only you," he says again, and Merlin's a little too sleepy to think on it.

They stumble gracefully to the lift and off of it, then through the corridor. Arthur supports most of Merlin's weight as they walk, and Merlin cracks an impossibly wide grin when he catches sight of his room.

"There I am," he says, a little gleefully. He starts to disentangle himself from Arthur, though the world starts to tilt maddeningly. "Thanks, Arthur."

"Are you joking?" And Arthur's hands are on him again, at his elbow, on his back. "Do you want to kill yourself?"

"No," Merlin says blearily, not in the mood for philosophical questions.

"Come on. Where's your room key?"

"Um." The world goes black, and Merlin doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until Arthur shakes him awake.

"Your  _room key_ , Merlin."

Merlin searches his mind and smiles when it comes to him. "Back pocket."

He feels one of Arthur's hands move, trails down; and suddenly he's awake,  _really_  awake, because Arthur's fingers justs skimmed the waistband of his trousers, and now they're going lower, settling over his arse.

For one impossible second, Arthur's hand is still, palming him. Merlin holds his breath.

And then Arthur's pulling away abruptly, as though jolted. " _Well_ ," he says, and Merlin doesn't think he's imagining that his voice is a little hoarse. "Take it out, then, you idiot."

Merlin does. Arthur snatches it from him and opens the door, ushering Merlin in, and Merlin makes a beeline for the bed.

"Watch it." Arthur's voice is amused, and Merlin looks up, finding him standing a few feet away and watching. "Take off your shoes, at least."

"Later," Merlin murmurs, sinking into the softness of his mattress and the pillow.

A small rustle, and something's at his feet. Merlin realizes after a few moments of tugging that Arthur's there, unlacing his shoes, pulling them off. Merlin squeezes his eyes tighter and fights to keep his breath steady, afraid to disturb the moment.

"Night." Merlin hears Arthur's murmur and, with great effort, keeps himself from responding. A few minutes later, Merlin dares to open his eyes; and the room is empty, almost sinfully so, and Merlin settles into a fitful sleep.

He wakes to the chorus of  _You're the Voice_ spilling from his phone, mocking him with its cheer. Merlin scowls, wondering if he'd manage to get any sleep in his godforsaken weekend.

Still scowling and half-asleep, Merlin pushes the phone to his ear. "'ello?"

"It's me, Merlin." Gwen's voice fills his ear. "I'm standing outside your room."

"Let me  _sleep_ ," he moans.

"Well, alright," Gwen almost concedes. "But it's almost noon, and if I let you sleep, you'll miss the luncheon."

Merlin groans. "Damn it."

"Come now, it's not all bad." Gwen's voice, like the ringtone, is mockingly cheerful. "You know you don't want to miss it."

"Damn  _you_ ," he revises.

Gwen laughs. "Open the door. I've got a surprise."

Merlin hangs up and drags himself out of bed, shuffling to the door. Gwen stands behind it, a smile on her face.

"A little birdie told me you were a bit tired out, so I thought you might want this."

Merlin catches sight of the coffee cups in her hands and almost moans. "Oh my God, hand it over."

Gwen laughs and does just that, moving with him to the bed. Merlin takes a few sips and hums appreciatively in his throat.

"This.  _This_."

"You're welcome." Gwen sits in front of him and crosses her legs, the position reminiscent of the night before.

"Is this the surprise?" he asks.

"No. You'll see the surprise later."

Merlin doesn't find it in him to be disappointed or particularly curious; the coffee tastes too good. He takes a few more heavenly sips before he realizes Gwen is staring at him.

"What?"

She lowers her eyes, as though uncomfortable. "What happened last night?"

Merlin shrugs. "What did you hear?"

"Different things," answers Gwen. "I know you saved today's luncheon, Arthur's telling everyone. Mithian's beside herself with guilt, and the bridesmaids are nursing hangovers and keeping to themselves, witch I'm being told isn't the natural state of things..."

Merlin shrugs again.  _Arthur's telling everyone._ "Nothing much happened. I fell asleep in the conference room."

Gwen's eyes are on him, shrewd, but silent. Merlin squirms in his spot. "So. What're you doing here?"

Gwen lifts a brow. "We didn't get to finish our conversation last night."

"Really?" Merlin tries to keep his voice light. "I thought we wrapped it up pretty well."

"Merlin." Gwen's tone lets him know that she won't be taking any of his bullshit. "Arthur's- well, he's getting married tomorrow."

Merlin swallows. "I know."

Gwen nods, seems to consider something. "Are you going to do anything?"

Merlin scoffs. "Of course I will."

"What?"

Merlin sighs. He settles his coffee on the table beside him, wraps his arms around his knees.

What will he do? What  _can_  he do? In the past two days, he's had ample oppurtunities to tell Arthur how he feels- in one way or another. They've had a few  _moments_ \- scattered and subtle, yes, but moments nonetheless. He recalls his fingertips at Arthur's wrist, Arthur's hot gaze on Merlin's skin at the boutique. His fondly exasperated sighs. Arthur's hands on him the night before.  _He's fighting feels for you_ , Gwen said, and Merlin doesn't doubt it entirely. With or without acknowledging it, Arthur's shown him that, at the very least, he misses him.

"You should talk to him." Gwen's gentle voice shakes him from his reverie. "If you think it'll go somewhere."

Merlin laughs. "You sound like Lance."

"We talk about this," says Gwen, matter-of-factly, then grins at Merlin's expression. "What? There's not many people we care about like we care about  _you_ , you know."

Siezed by a sudden bought of fondness for her, Merlin takes her hand. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me." Gwen smiles, shakily. "We just want you to be happy, Merlin."

"So do I," Merlin mutters. "I'm- I'm tired of grasping at straws. You know?"

Gwen tilts her head, brow furrowing. Merlin racks his brain for the words to elaborate. "I'm just... Arthur left to chase his dream, right? He thought it'd make him happy. It didn't- I'm pretty sure of that. He doesn't  _look_  happy. So now he's got all these wasted years, this wasted effort, and he's stuck, because it would be all the more tragic if he left it all and tried something else and  _failed_. Then he'd have nothing."

Gwen's eyes brighten with understanding. "You feel the same way."

"Yeah." Merlin looks down at their joined hands. "I can't even rem _em_ ber why I wanted to be a doctor anymore."

Gwen squeezes his hand. "You want to be a doctor because you'd be the best, Merlin. Because you  _care_  about people, and you want to give them that."

Merlin looks up at her. "What am I supposed to  _do_?"

Gwen sighs. "Tell him you love him."

Merlin groans and starts to stand, but Gwen grabs his hand and tugs him back down.

" _Tell him you love him_." There's something fierce in her eyes, her tone, and Merlin is drawn to it. "Tell him you loved him all these years."

Merlin swallows, and Gwen's tone softens immediately.

"But you were afraid," she goes on. "You were, weren't you? Afraid of all the sacrifice and the risk involved. Afraid of love, afraid of  _needing_... of belonging to someone. We all are, sweetheart."

"Wow," Merlin says, slightly awed. "You're a genius, I think."

Gwen smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Will you do it?"

Merlin considers. Part of him is terrified- terrified that he won't be able to go through with it, terrified of Arthur's reaction if he does. Terrified of rejection. The rest of him is calm, _relieved_ \- because at least this means it'll be over, that all the cards will be out on the table, regardless of the fact that it'll place his heart in Arthur's hands.

Finally, he breathes out shakily, nods. "I will."

Now Gwen smiles, a bright, beautiful thing that stretches from ear to ear. "Good."

She leans forward and hugs him, and Merlin tucks his face into her neck. "Thank you.  _Again_."

"We're here for you," she says, rising from the bed.

Merlin pouts. "Where're you going?"

"To get dressed. And you should, too," says Gwen. "Arthur's gone to look at the church with Mithian and a few of the girls, and he's left specific instructions that you're to follow."

" _Did_  he, now?"

She presses a quick kiss to his brow before bouncing off. "Good luck."

Merlin is halfway through tugging on his shirt when a series of rapid knocks descend on the door. Muttering curses, Merlin untangles his arms as quickly as he can and pulls his shirt on properly, clearing his throat as he walks to the door and praying he looks somewhat composed.

He's not at all prepared to find Gwaine standing on the other side, unshaven and smiling wickedly, holding a wrapped something that smells delicious.

"Surprise."

Merlin's response is to blink owlishly for a moment, then tackle Gwaine into a hug with a force that would have knocked him down, were Gwaine not so solid.

"My, my. It seems you've missed me."

Merlin pulls back, sputtering and grinning. "What- you- everyone's coming  _early_!"

Gwaine shrugs in that easy way of his, still grinning. "That's the effect you have on us."

Merlin's smiling so hard he fears his face will split in half. "Well- come in. I have to go in a bit, but come in."

Gwaine does, sweeping into the room and settling into a chair with a groan. "Fuck, I'm  _tired_."

"Didn't sleep much?"

"Eh. Heard you didn't, either." Gwaine holds up the food in his hand. "For you."

Merlin unveils the breakfast wrap a bit too quickly, biting into it with relish. "I have the best friends," he manages around a full mouth.

"Can't disagree." Gwaine smiles. "So. What is it you've got to run to?"

Merlin swallows his mouthful before answering. "Arthur. I'm... I'm to meet him at the church. I'm going to tell him."

Gwaine's smile falls away and his eyes go soft and serious, as they so rarely do. It's a moment before he speaks. "Well. I'll go with you, mate."

Merlin's eyebrows shoot up. "Erm. Why?"

"Because I don't trust you to go through with it, not on your own." Gwaine's tone is very even; not unkind, not soft. "You're one of the bravest people I know, but you're a bit of a coward when it comes to Arthur."

Merlin sticks his chin up and aims for a light tone. "I'm not a coward, you git."

"Not at all," agrees Gwaine. "I just don't think you trust Arthur, not too much, even though you'd do anything and risk everything for him."

Suddenly Merlin isn't sure whether to laugh or to cry, because damn him, Gwaine is  _right_. But Gwaine is looking at him, closely, so Merlin hits him on the shoulder and blinks to dispell the emotion. "When did you get so fucking observant?"

Gwaine's grin is back, full force. "You don't give me nearly enough credit."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "You're impossible."

Gwaine nods, incorrigible. "Now come on, put on that little red scarf thing. It drives Arthur wild, I've got it on good confidence."

Merlin grins and does as he's told. The two leave the room a few minutes later, as soon as Merlin's done eating. They almost bump into Gwen, who has a hand up, ready to knock.

"Oh!"

"Gwen, my dear, we  _have_  to stop meeting like this."

She hits Gwaine on the shoulder, though she's smiling. "Shut up, Gwaine. Are you on your way out, Merlin?"

"Yeah. Did you want something?"

"Just to check on you, make sure you were getting dressed, and all." She looks at Gwaine. "Are you going with him?"

"Yup," Gwaine says cheerily.

"I thought- um. Arthur asked for Merlin alone."

Gwaine shrugs. "It's a church, I'm pretty sure kicking me out of it is a sin."

Gwen rolls her eyes, though she looks like she's struggling with something. "Er..."

"Hang on." Merlin pats down his pockets. "I forgot my mobile. One sec."

He backs into the room, leaning over the bed where he left his phone, when he hears Gwen's stage-whisper through the open door.

"Why are you going with him?"

Merlin pauses, listening, grateful for Gwen's horrible listening skills.

"For support," Gwaine answers, and Merlin can picture the small smile on his face.

"He should do this alone," Gwen admonishes.

"No, he shouldn't." And the smile is gone now, Merlin is absolutely certian, replaced with rare solemnity. "We're all putting on a brave front, but there's every chance that when Merlin hands over his heart on a silver platter, Arthur's going to stomp all over it."

Merlin freezes, wills his hands not to shake, not to give himself away.

"If you think that, then why are you letting him go through with this at all?" Gwen sounds anguished. "This- this is a bad idea. I shouldn't have suggested it. We should stop him."

"No. He has to do this." Gwaine sounds certain. "In the long run, it'll be better for him to be rejected than to not know what could have happened."

"Rejected?" Gwen's voice sounds small, and Merlin wants to hug her.

"Hey. That's just one way it could go. It could go a million wonderful ways, too."

Gwen's voice shrinks further. "Take care of him."

"I will." Gwaine says it almost like a vow. "And if Arthur hurts him..." There's a pause, an audible swallow, and Merlin can picture Gwaine clenching his fists. "Well. Let's just say that I won't let Merlin go through it alone."

He's had enough. Merlin stands up, turns, and makes his audible way to the door, noting with satisfaction how Gwaine immediately launches into a tirade about football. It's both endearing and a terrible ploy, and Merlin snorts. " _Gwaine_. I doubt Gwen cares."

Rather than be offended, Gwaine grins. "You're right, as usual, Merlin. By your leave, Gwen."

But Merlin gives Gwen a quick hug before leaving, squeezing her forearms and hoping some of his gratitude shines through. On the lift, he takes Gwaine's hand, reaching over and squeezing on impulse. Gwaine smiles and says nothing, understanding, and Merlin wonders what he did to deserve such wonderful friends.

* * *

The church is magnificent and elegant and imposing and  _huge_ , and Merlin really shouldn't have expected anything less. Merlin shuffles through the hallowed hall, intimidated, wondering how someone could do something as intimate as  _getting married_ in a place as impersonal as this, with the statues and the stone and the candelabras.

But then he sees Arthur in a shirt with an open throat, and Arthur smiles at him, and the rest of that is quite forgotten.

Mithian is the first to greet him, and she does so by launching herself into his arms. "Merlin. Oh God, I am eternally grateful to you."

"Um." Merlin hugs her back, and tries to ignore Gwaine's comically wide eyes. "That's an overstatement, Mithian. It was nothing."

" _Nothing_?" She pulls back. "You saved our luncheon; an essential part of my  _wedding_! That's a far cry from nothing."

Merlin shrugs. "I'm glad to help."

"I know you are. That's why you're so amazing. Goodness, Arthur's lucky to have you." She grasps both his hands in hers. " _I'm_  lucky to have you."

"It's... er..."

But Mithian has caught sight of Gwaine, who is now wearing what he calls his Game Face, which consists essentially of Gwaine smiling and his eyes going dark and... Merlin doesn't like to think about it. Mithian smiles, a bit uncertainly. "Who's that?"

Merlin fights an eye-roll; Gwaine's unknowingly trying to flirt with Arthur's  _fiance_. "That's Gwaine."

Her face brightens. "Oh! Gwaine. Arthur told me about him."

" _Gwaine_." Merlin calls him over rather loudly and waves his arm, which brings Gwaine and his charming smile closer. "Gwaine, this is Mithian. Arthur's fiance."

The Game Face falls.

"Oh." Gwaine smiles, though it's less toxic this time. "I'm Gwaine."

"Gwaine." Mithian takes his proferred hand and shakes it. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Only the best things, I trust."

Mithian laughs. "Of course."

"I should excuse myself," Merlin says, then realizes how utterly rude and awkward he sounds. "Uh, I mean. Arthur-"

Mithian waves her hand dismissively. "Yes, of course, I'll leave you to it. There's so much to do!"

With that, she trails off, heading to a group of women that stand near the end of the pews. Merlin sighs in relief, taking a step forward, watching Arthur where he stands at the head of the room, talking to a man dressed entirely in grey, and steels himself for what is to come-

"Merlin?"

He barely holds back a groan as he turns. Immediately, he feels guilty; it's Freya, standing at his elbow, looking timid and unsure.

"Freya. Hello."

"Hi. Could I, um..." Freya casts a glance to the side. "Talk to you for a second?  _Alone_?"

Merlin follows her gaze to Gwaine, who's wearing his Game Face again, damn him; this time directed at Freya. Merlin sends him as disapproving a look as he can manage before nodding at Freya, who moves closer to the wall.

"What is it?"

"I just wanted to apologize." Freya wrings her hands, and her dark eyes look anguished. "For last night."

Merlin waves a hand dismissively. He doesn't want to talk about it, not  _ever_  and certainly not now, when he's getting ready to strip his soul bare for Arthur. Besides, he doesn't blame Freya for what happened.

"No, really." It seems Freya won't let it go. "I'm so  _sorry_. I remember most of what happened, and... I was drunk, but that's no excuse, I shouldn't have let it happen. Vivian's rude, but I shouldn't have let her say those things, and lock you  _in_  there-"

"Don't worry about it. Really."

"I haven't told anyone," Freya says, solemnly. "I swear. I mean, I can if you want me to... if you want things to be put right..."

Merlin wants to laugh, but it doesn't feel right. "You don't... nothing needs to be put right. It's like you said, Vivian was drunk."

Freya's eyes widen. "You were there all night.  _Stuck_  there all night, and... it was cold, I remember, I'm sorry."

" _Freya_. Stop apologizing. It isn't your fault."

" _No_ \- no, you don't get it. I know what that's like, being  _trapped_  and... holy shit."

She starts to breathe heavily, her hands fluttering at her throat. Merlin reaches for her, alarmed. "Freya? Are you okay?"

"Fine."

He doesn't buy it. "Should I get someone? Is this normal? Do you need water? An inhaler? Is it asthma?"

Freya shakes her head, takes in two deep lungfuls of air. "Really. I'm fine. I just..."

"Freya. You're not fine."

"I am." She smiles weakly. "I just felt guilty."

Merlin frowns. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Freya gestures vaguely to the space behind her. "I should... Mithian needs me."

Just as quickly as she appeared, Freya is gone. She moves too quickly for his eyes and soon she's swallowed by one of the small crowds.

He hears Gwaine come up behind him. "What was  _that_  about?"

"Nothing." Merlin doesn't want to explain it all to Gwaine, and he'd probably have to say the whole truth to Gwaine if he started. Merlin doesn't quite know how to lie to him.

"That was definitely not nothing." Gwaine's eyes are on Freya, who Merlin now sees now. "Is she alright?"

Merlin half-nods. "Yeah. Well, she says so."

Gwaine directs his attention to Merlin, then jerks his chin at Arthur. "No time like the present."

Merlin sighs. "Damn it... I need an aspirin, or coffee, or Morgana or something."

Gwaine snorts. "Who needs Morgana when you have  _Gwaine_?"

Merlin can't help but smile. Gwaine smacks him on the forearm. "That's better. Now go get your princess."

Holding in an inelegant snort- much like Gwaine's- Merlin makes his way to where Arthur stands. Arthur sees him coming and makes what can only be excuses to the man he's talking to, because the man walks away promptly, leaving Arthur to Merlin.

He's smiling when Merlin reaches him. "You look better."

"Thanks to you," Merlin says, and a blush steals over his face before he can stop it. "And coffee, and food, of course."

Arthur smiles wider- probably at his blush. Merlin hates himself for being so transparent.

"I see Gwaine's here," Arthur says. "I should say hello."

"Wait." Merlin reaches, his fingertips grazing Arthur's hand. "Could- could we talk, first?"

Arthur pauses, eyes focusing on Merlin and seeming to find something there, because his tone is uncharacteristically subdued when he speaks. "Yes. Alright."

Merlin takes in a breath. "I... well. I've been trying to get myself to tell you this, about this, for a while."

Arthur's eyes are wide, intense, trained on him. It's hard not to crack under the attention, but Merlin manages to go on. "I... I've been... holding it inside, but I want to tell you. Because you're important to me, and this could be my last chance, and you need to know."

Merlin grasps at the first words that come to his mind and says them, not caring how awkward or disconnected they sound, grateful he's being coherent at all. "Sometimes you think you know how you feel about someone. Right? You think you've done it all, fathomed them out, you think you  _get it_. You say something, and you think you mean it. But... but you _don't_  know how you feel about them. Until... until you  _do_."

A tiny line is forming between Arthur's eyebrows; he's confused. But his eyes are bright and Merlin knows he's hanging onto every word, and he's not saying anything- not asking questions, not trying to interrupt his flow- and that's enough.

Merlin swallows and musters all the courage he has left. "I... I'm in love, I think. No, I  _know_. I love-"

" _Merlin_!"

It's Leon- smiling, kind, polite Leon, who Merlin wants to throttle. He chances a glance at Arthur- his eyes are wide, his jaw twitching, and Merlin thinks he must be sporting similar thoughts.

"Leon, mate." Merlin forces a tight smile on his face and shakes the other man's hand. "I saw you, what- three weeks ago?"

Arthur stifles a laugh, and it comes out sounding like a snort. Leon looks between them, easy smile falling, looking uncertain.

At that look, Merlin feels bad. "I missed you too, Leon."

"I can tell I've interrupted something," Leon says graciously, and Merlin suddenly remembers why he likes the bloke; for his never-faltering politeness. "I'll catch up with you later."

Merlin watches Leon walk away; following him with his eyes probably longer than he needs to, because he's suddenly afraid to look at Arthur.

"Merlin."

Merlin inhales shakily, suddenly terrified, bone-deep.

"Merlin... what... what were you saying?"

His breath is a gust of warmth on the back of Merlin's neck. "Tell me. You... you can tell me anything."

And there it is, Arthur picking him apart and finding the root of it all. Merlin swallows and tells himself to  _take_  this, to trust Arthur for once, to trust that he isn't the only one who knows how to take care of others.

Merlin opens his mouth- and Gwaine catches his eye. He's standing closer than he was a minute ago, only a few feet away. He sees Merlin looking at him and mimes with his hands, something inscrutable and definitely mad, but Merlin understands the gist of it. He understands the gist of it even better when Gwaine throws caution to the wind and mouths rather obviously:  _DID YOU TELL HIM YET?_

Keeping himself from smacking a palm to his forehead is an epic internal struggle. Behind him, he feels Arthur's posture straighten, and Merlin recognizes that small movement. Arthur's steeling himself, preparing for something.

"Is... does he think I can't  _see_  him?"

Merlin turns to face Arthur, sighs. "I think so, maybe."

Arthur isn't looking at him, but looking over his shoulder- at something, someone,  _Gwaine_  in all likelihood. "He... he knows what you're about to tell me."

It's not quite a question, and Arthur sounds slightly hurt. Betrayed. Merlin shakes his head before he realizes he's doing it- it shouldn't be like this, Arthur shouldn't be looking over his shoulder and not at him, shouldn't be misunderstanding, shouldn't be hurt.

"Is that..." Arthur takes a deep, deep breath, his chest puffing with it, and exhales shakily. He meets Merlin's eyes, finally; and they're guarded. "Is that what this is about?  _Gwaine_?"

Merlin sputters, soundlessly.

Arthur seems to take this for confirmation. He swallows once, twice, his bobbing Adam's apple belying the cruel twist of his mouth that comes a second later.

"That's alright," Arthur says. "I thought you might've- you two. I had my suspicions."

Merlin's throat closes. "You had your-  _what_?"

"I'm happy for you, Merlin." He claps a hand on his shoulder, but the gesture is impersonal. "You two make a good couple. I hope you're happy."

Merlin forces his throat to work, forces his brain to supply words. "Yeah. Yeah, that's... we're happy, sure."

Arthur's mask slips for a moment, then, his eyes going wider and his mouth opening, asking for something- but it's only a moment, and his gaze is downcast again, the line of his jaw uncompromising.

"I should say congratulations, I suppose."

Merlin's usual brain function is quickly returning to him, and he tries to see the positive in this, tries to tell himself that it's alright that Arthur thinks he loves someone else, tries to tell himself he wasn't ready, anyway.

It works, his breaths coming easier. He  _wasn't_  ready. There is a better way to do this, without an audience, without so much room for misinterpretation.

But part of him doesn't believe that. Part of him is hurt.

Gwaine is smiling when the two walk up to him, and Merlin is tempted to knock him over the head. "So. Sorted it out, you two?"

"Yes," Merlin says. "Gwaine, I've told Arthur everything. I've told him about... you and me, that you're my boyfriend."

Gwaine reacts much, much better than Merlin could have anticipated. His eyes don't bulge, and he doesn't say anything stupid. He slips a smile onto his face that looks only a little too forced, and the only indication that something isn't right are his hands, clenching and unclenching into fists.

"Right. Right." Gwaine reaches over and takes Merlin's hand, pulling him so that he stands in the crook of his arm. Beneath his lashes, Merlin sees Arthur's eyes narrow at the gesture- and anger bubbles inside him, at the fact that he has the nerve to be jealous, at his  _audacity_.

Gwaine seems to be thinking along the same lines. His arm tightens over Merlin's shoulders, pulling him closer. "Congratulations are in order, Arthur."

He extends his other hand, and Arthur takes it. "Thank you."

They all look at each other for a moment, the silence terse and uncomfortable. Eventually, Arthur mumbles an excuse and walks away.

Gwaine and Merlin exchange a glance.

"What the hell just  _happened_?" says Gwaine.

"I'm not entirely sure," Merlin says, his head still trying to catch up with his heartbeat.

Gwaine groans, and covers his face with his hands. When he speaks, the word is still perfectly audible.

" _Fuck_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment + kudos! Comments are unbelievably encouraging.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this way sooner than I expected! For some reason this part was really easy to write. I hope you enjoy the next installment of c&c!

They round the corner a few minutes later, and Gwaine has the good sense to light a cigarette. After a moment of contemplation, he offers one to Merlin.

Merlin lifts it to his lips with shaky fingers. As if on cue, Gwaine sighs.

" _Damn it_ , Merlin. What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Merlin says, a smoky exhale.

Gwaine sighs again. "You were going to tell him. What went wrong?"

Merlin breathes in, breathes out, brings the cigarette to his lips, mulls it all over in his head again.

"He thought it was you," Merlin says, miserable. "I told him I love someone, and he thought I was talking about  _you_."

Gwaine throws his head back and mutters beneath his breath. Merlin catches a few words, none of which he cares to repeat.

Finally, Gwaine looks Merlin straight in the eye. "Go fix it, then."

Merlin feels his eyes bulge. "What?"

Gwaine makes shoo-ing motions with his hands. " _Go_! Go now, and tell him what you really meant.  _Quick_ , before this spreads."

Merlin's eyes narrow. "Why? Are you worried about what people might say about you?"

Gwaine rolls his eyes. "No, you arse. I'm worried about what they'll say about  _you_. First off, I'm straight- notoriously so, and-"

" _Well_ , there was that one time-"

" _Merlin_!"

Merlin starts, though he feels the start of a grin. He wonders at this, wonders how he's able to smile after what just happened.

"I'm just saying-"

"You  _swore_  you'd never speak of that again."

Merlin taps his chin. "I don't recall."

"You were crying. You  _asked_  me to."

"I did  _not_!"

" _Begged_  me."

"Well. I liked it." Merlin grins broadly, and eventually Gwaine's mouth starts to twitch.

"Well unless you want to spend the rest of your life begging me for kisses, you've got to go back in there and tell Arthur the truth."

Merlin's mouth twists. The anxiety of an hour prior is filling him again, mixed fear and trepidation, churning in his stomach.

"This is so much worse than before," he thinks aloud. "I mean. Now, not only do I have to tell the prat I bloody  _love_  him, I've got to admit that I lied about something so ridiculous."

Gwaine nods, and somehow it doesn't come off as sympathetic. "The sooner the better."

Merlin puts on his best puppy-dog face. "Can't you pretend to be my boyfriend for a bit?"

"Merlin," Gwaine sighs. "Half our friends are here, and they won't believe it. And this is just going to fester inside Arthur... this can't end well for you, mate."

Merlin hangs his head. He can't imagine going to Arthur and taking it back, can't look past how pathetic it would all be; and certainly can't imagine saving enough face to profess his love straight afterwards.

" _Gwaine_. Can you just-"

" _What_  is going on here?"

Merlin whirls, as though caught red-handed at something; then breaks into a relieved smile. "Morgana."

Her arms are crossed over her chest, one pointed shoe tapping threateningly. Her jaw is set. "What's going on?"

Gwaine's eyes narrow. "What are they saying?"

Morgana rolls her eyes, but answers. "Arthur looks like someone's punched him, and I managed to hear him mumble something about you two being  _together_."

Merlin sighs. "I may have completely fucked up my confession."

" _What_  confession?"

"I was about to tell Arthur- about to tell him that I love him."

Morgana's eyes widen. " _What?_  Why?"

"What's the matter?" Gwaine cuts in. "Not what you wanna hear, Queen Mab?"

Morgana narrows her eyes at him in a way that would have lesser men cringing. But Gwaine holds his ground. "I didn't ask  _you_ , did I?"

Gwaine holds out his hands, mockingly appeasing; Morgana's nostrils quiver; and Merlin rolls his eyes. This push and pull is as old as the both of them.

" _Morgana_ ," he says, garnering her attention. "I talked with Gwen, and I decided that it was time. Alright?"

"Fine. What  _happened_ , then?"

"I... I started to tell him, and then somehow he thought that I was talking about Gwaine. And I let him."

Instead of launching into a tirade or turning quickly on her stiletto heel and walking away in exasperation, Morgana taps her chin thoughtfully.

"This could work," she says, to the surprise of all.

"How could...  _how_ does that make sense?" Gwaine gawps.

"You shouldn't have taken Gwen's advice," Morgana adresses Merlin, heedless of Gwaine. "And  _this_ \- this is better than me, and better than Freya. Arthur's really jealous."

Merlin makes an odd sound in his throat. "I'm tired of playing games, Morgana."

"Merlin. Merlin." She rushes forward, takes one of his hands between hers. Her eyes, right in front of his, are green and earnest. " _Trust_ me. This will work."

"It will  _not_ ," protests Gwaine.

"Shut it, Gwaine," Morgana snaps. "What do you know about relationships, anyway?"

Gwaine lets out an exasperated "Excuse me?" and makes a rude gesture involving his hips, then chases that with a hair flip. Morgana rolls her eyes.

"I didn't say women, Gwaine. I said  _relationships_. Need I remind you of Eira?"

Gwaine's eyes darken. Merlin quickly holds up a hand to his chest.

"Morgana, that was uncalled for," says Merlin with a tone he never employs with Morgana. "Cut it out."

She opens her mouth to protest, but Merlin's gaze keeps her quiet.

"Gwaine. It's alright," Merlin says.

"I'm not listening to you," Gwaine finally says, gaze hot on Morgana. "It's Merlin's choice. Whatever he wants, I'll do."

Merlin smiles, even as Morgana rolls her eyes and takes a step back.

"So," says she, a smirk in her voice. "What  _do_  you want, Merlin?"

Merlin looks between them, the rise and fall of Gwaine's chest beneath his hand and Morgana's infuriatingly arched eyebrow.

He knows what he wants to do, but he doesn't think Gwaine will be too pleased with it.

As though reading it on his face, Morgana pats his shoulder and laughs. "That's what I thought."

* * *

"I'm  _going_  to tell him the truth," Merlin insists, for the twentieth time, he imagines.

"Eventually," Gwaine says, deadpan.

Merlin pouts. "Please, for one hour, find me irresistable."

Gwaine huffs. "That's gonna be a tough one."

"Come  _on_ , Gwaine." Merlin pulls his lip between his teeth and forces his eyes to widen and finally Gwaine crumples, as he always does beneath the onslaught of Merlin's intentionally adorable face.

"You owe me," Gwaine grumbles.

"Big time," Merlin agrees cheerily.

They enter the church, and barely walk two steps before a small tornado that is Mithian crashes into them.

"Oh my God! Oh my  _God!_ " Mithian grasps Merlin forearms and squeezes, stunning him, her face nearly splitting with her smile. "Oh my goodness, Merlin, this is great!"

"Er... thanks-"

"I mean, it really is! Congratulations!" She laughs, the sound at odds with the solemnity of their surroundings. "I'm so happy for you! This makes everything  _so_  perfect!"

" _Doesn't_  it?"

Even more surprising that Mithian's enthusiams is Gwaine's sudden affability as he calmly slips between them, Mithian's attention shifting to him.

"It makes this entire weekend simply perfect," says Gwaine.

Merlin blinks.

"Exactly!" Mithian bursts. "You two look like such a wonderful couple... I've got to tell everyone... Aunt Violet!  _Aunt Violet_!"

Mithian's aunt approaches, confused, along with a few other guests. Merlin feels the tips of his ears burn; he wasn't expecting this.

She congratulates them, smiling along with Mithian. Leon is among the people coming closer, and Arthur- Arthur's at the back of the group, gaze hooded, occasionally looking up at Merlin then immediately down at his shoes again.

"Congratulations." Leon's smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Merlin swallows; Leon is one of their close friends from London, and he's aware of Gwaine's reputation. He also knows that Leon is unflinchingly loyal, and that he won't voice his confusion while they have an audience.

"Ooh," says Sophia, who also wandered closer. "You're gay?"

Whether or not it is intentional, she says it like an insult. Gwaine responds by wrapping his arm around Merlin's shoulder, drawing him closer fiercely.

" _Yes_ ," Gwaine responds, chin high.

"Shame." It's only a half-attempt at a whisper from Vivian. The entire group turns to glare at her, and Sophia draws her away.

"Why didn't you tell us you were together?" asks Mithian, trying to smooth over Vivian's rudeness.

"I wanted to," says Gwaine, exuberantly, and Merlin looks at him. "I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. But Merlin..."

And here Gwaine turns to look at him, and Merlin realizes what's really happening. Gwaine isn't  _defending_  him, at least not anymore. Gwaine's  _teasing_  him; trying to embarrass him.

Merlin groans internally, bracing himself for the worst.

Gwaine delivers. "Merlin said he didn't want to tell anyone, not yet. Because this was  _your_  weekend, Mithian."

"Aww," Mithian coos, shockingly unlike her.

"Yes," Gwaine goes on. "'Let's not take the attention from Mithian. Adorable, sweet, precious Mithian.'"

Mithian's eyes soften and she looks at Merlin, who smiles weakly.

"Those were his exact words!" Gwaine looks like he's finally enjoying himself.

"Oh, Merlin!" Mithian clasps her hands over her chest, letting out a sudden, breathless laugh. "I think I'm going to cry."

"Me too," Merlin mutters beneath his breath.

"Isn't he adorable?" Gwaine coos in a way that's positively disturbing, his arm tightening around Merlin's shoulders. "I can just imagine..."

Merlin loses track of Gwaine's words for a second as he catches Freya's: " _No_ \- no, I don't care." Sophia's whispering to her in low tones, her hands moving over her forearms in a way that can only be described as soothing- but Freya pushes her away and stalks off, shaking her head. Merlin stares after her, brow creased in confusion and worry.

"... Arthur and I are really happy for you."

Arthur's name drags Merlin back to the present.

"Glad to hear it," Gwaine replies easily. Then: "Merlin's ecstatic. Bursting with happiness, this one."

Merlin fights to reign in a scowl. "Absolutely."

"Gwaine, you must come with us to lunch," Mithian says. "Gwen and Lance are coming too- it'll be wonderful."

"Oh, Gwen and Lance are coming?" Gwaine shoots Merlin a pointed glance beneath his lashes. "I'm  _definitely_  coming, then."

Inwardly, Merlin groans.

A second later, Mithian is called away by a frazzled woman in a violet suit, and Leon approaches them somewhat timidly. Merlin does  _not_ notice Arthur take a few steps closer, gaze resolutely on the floor.

Leon smiles crookedly. "Uh. Congrats again?"

"Thanks, mate," Gwaine replies easily.

"Gwaine." Leon's forehead is creased, a rare occurance. "Um. Aren't you... um... I mean, since when are you not straight?"

Merlin watches Gwaine's face, and for a moment he looks like he's trying not to roll his eyes. Then he grins.

"Merlin's enough to turn anyone, eh?"

Arthur turns abruptly on his heel, the line of his shoulders taut as he quickly walks away. Merlin's heart falls just as something in his stomach flutters, because Arthur's  _still_  being stupidly possessive; and it's a piece of him that's irritating and endearing and that Merlin selfishly loves associating with himself.

But Gwaine, it seems, won't let Arthur off that easy.

"Thanks for the well wishes, Arthur!"

Arthur turns, slowly. His eyes, when they meet Gwaine's, are dark and inscrutable.

"You're welcome," he snaps, before walking off again.

This time, Gwaine doesn't bother calling him back; and Merlin spots a self satisfied smirk on his face as he watches Arthur walk away.

"He's happy for you," Leon tells them, frowning after Arthur. "He's just a bit- confused, I'm sure."

"Why someone falling head over heels for Merlin would confuse him is beyond me," Gwaine says, eyes wide and faux-innocent.

This time around, Leon's laugh is a bit more natural. He pats Gwaine and Merlin over the back before departing, offering final well-wishes.

When they're relatively alone, Merlin grabs Gwaine's forearm and lets his fingertips dig in until he's sure it hurts.

" _Ow_. Merlin, baby, let go."

Merlin gasps, mortified. "Don't ' _baby_ ' me!"

Gwaine shrugs, but he's grinning. "You wanted me to do this. So I'm gonna do this right."

"By  _humiliating_  me?"

"Only if I can," Gwaine assures him.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "You made Arthur furious."

"That wasn't an accident," Gwaine says simply, before noticing that most of their friends were headed for the church doors. He tugs Merlin in that direction. "Let's go. I'm starving."

They follow Freya, Vivian, and Sophia out of the church. As soon as Freya notices them behind her, she scurries to the front of the crowd. Merlin frowns and tucks this away in his mind for future contemplation.

Gwaine nudges him, and Merlin finds him ogling Sophia's backside.

"How am  _I_  supposed to  _make an impression_ on these ladies if everyone thinks I'm gay?"

Merlin scoffs and hisses right back. "An impression? You just want to fuck them."

"Not  _them_." Gwaine tosses his hair and pretends to look affronted. "But one, at least.  _Two_."

"You're horrible." Merlin swats him away as Gwaine tries to grab hold of him, to whisper in his ear again. "Besides. It's a Spanish wedding. Do you want to sleep with someone who doesn't speak your language?"

Gwaine doesn't even blink. "Yes."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You'll have to pretend I'm enough for now. At least we speak the same language."

Gwaine scoffs. "Don't fuck with me, Merlin. I'm hearing a  _ton_  of English here. They're all English, especially those fine ladies with those-"

"Stop." Merlin presses a hand to Gwaine's mouth to stem the filth, eyes pleading.

Gwaine pushes at Merlin's chest, though without any real effort. When Merlin refuses to pull away, Gwaine's hand trail downwards and span his waist, pushing, and when  _that_ doesn't work, he starts to tickle.

It startles a laugh out of Merlin, who almost pulls away but resolutely holds on, and they don't realize they have an audience until Merlin catches Arthur's expression out of the corner of his eye.

Immediately, he stops. He tucks his hands into his pockets and takes a step away from Gwaine, blushing, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. But Gwaine is incorrigible, reaching for Merlin and pulling him close.

"Adorable," Mithian mumurs, eliciting a smile from a few who stand around here and a surprising glare from Freya.

Merlin tries not to think about Freya's odd behavior as he's maneuvered to a car- Sophia's, he realizes. Somehow Morgana climbs in with him, and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

They reach the restaurant in almost no time at all. It's a lovely seafood place with an outdoor patio, which has been set up for them; cleared but for one long table. The guests take their seats. Merlin's mood darkens when he spots Uther, but brightens when Gwen and Lance shoot him quick smiles and take the empty seats nearest to him.

A moment later, his phone buzzes. A cursory glance reveals that it's a text from Gwen.  _How'd it go?_

Merlin purses his lips and punches in a quick reply.  _Not too great. You'll find out soon enough._

He watches Gwen pore over it, a frown curving her lips, with no small amount of guilt. A second later, Lance leans over to read the text, and Merlin feels like he wants to disappear.

The wine list is passed around, along with nonobtrusive waiters who quietly take orders and make suggestions. Leon, who is sitting on one side of Mithian, spreads a cloth over his lap and shoots her and Arthur a smile.

"I'm really happy for you." He beams, and his words sound very heartfelt.

"Thank you." Mithian's smile is just as broad, just as white. "I'm sure we're going to be excellent friends, Leon."

"I'm sure," he responds easily. "I look forward to getting to know you better."

Mithian holds up her hands invitingly. "Ask away!"

"Uh- now?" Leon flushes, then laughs a little uncomfortably. "Alright. Er, you're English, right?"

"That's right," Mithian answers. This comes as a surprise to Merlin; she  _sounds_  English, but it didn't occur to him that she  _was_. He didn't think about it much, to be honest.

"But you live here?" Leon asks.

"Yes. I moved here a few years ago... my father needed to move here because of work, and we're very tightly knit. I couldn't stay behind."

"Ah." Leon nods understandingly. "Family's important."

"Yeah," Mithian says, smiling at Arthur and giving his upper arm a squeeze.

Merlin watches Gwaine tip back a glass of some amber liquid as though it's water. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and regards Arthur with squinty eyes.

Merlin's eyes narrow. This can't be good.

"So. Arthur." Gwaine leans forward. "Where's the honeymoon?"

To Merlin's left, Morgana begins to snicker behind her wineglass and tries to cover it up with a cough. Merlin narrows his eyes at her, both in warning and curiosity.

"Uh..." Mithian seems to be at a loss for a moment, then gives Gwaine a small smile. "There won't be a honeymoon."

Leon's pale brows rise. "No honeymoon?"

"There just isn't time," Mithian offers in explanation, and Arthur's staring resolutely into his lap.

"Ah, there's gotta be time for a honeymoon," Gwaine drawls. "Right, Arthur?"

"You're right." Arthur looks up, smiles tightly. "Wherever my route takes us, that's where we'll do it."

Gwaine wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Eh, Arthur, a pretty girl like that deserves a proper honeymoon. Right, lads?"

He recieves a few nods and noises of assent, Leon and Gwen among them. The older folk who were listening in give each other significant looks and start their own side conversations. Mithian's brow is furrowed and she looks very uncomfortable.

Gwaine seems to take pity on her; he lends her a kind smile. "Come on, I'll help you figure it out. Arthur, where's your next job?"

Merlin watches Arthur's jaw move; he's clenching his teeth. "Brussels," he grinds out.

"Alright. And Mithian, what do you do?"

Mithian's eyes widen, and for a moment she looks like a deer caught in the headlights. "Um... I'm..." She clears her throat, and the smile she plasters on her face the next second looks completely ingenuine. "I quit my job."

Gwaine blinks. Leon shoots Arthur a look but says nothing, choosing to tuck into his wineglass instead. Gwen and Lance exchange a look. Morgana looks surprised.

Merlin takes note of all of this and doesn't know how to react.

"I was an architect." Mithian's talking quickly, either to dispell the tension or her own panic. "Well, I still am, I suppose. I'm just going to be taking the odd job here and there from now on- you know, work wherever I can find it. Wherever Arthur goes."

She smiles, tremulously, and Merlin's heart suddenly aches for her.

"That's- that's nice," he says, lamely, then clears his throat and tries again. "It'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Yeah- yeah."

Mithian's aunt pets her niece's arm and gives her a significant look, which Mithian responds to with a reassuring smile. Arthur stares into his lap then at the cieling, looking as uncomfortable with the entire situation as Merlin feels.

"Let's talk about something else." Mithian's aunt- Aunt Violet?- presses her hands together and leans forward, resting her chin on alarmingly sharp fingernails. "Merlin and Gwaine- how'd you two meet?"

Mithian breaks out in a smile- genuine, this time. "Oh, it's the loveliest story. Arthur told me. Arthur, would you-"

But Arthur suddenly makes a show of ordering more wine, and he doesn't answer. Gwaine, predictably, swoops in.

"It's the most  _romantic_  story." Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin notes how Arthur's eyes widen at the word "romantic." As do Gwen's.

"Tell us!" It's a teenage girl, Mithian's cousin- Merlin can't remember her name.

"Well." Gwaine straightens out his shirt, puffs out his chest, and flips his hair out of his eyes. Merlin isn't sure whether to laugh or to groan.

"I was crossing the street one morning," Gwaine starts. "And I didn't quite have my wits about me- hungover, I'll admit." Gwaine shrugs and somehow the gesture is as rakishly charming as the rest of him. "I'd just gone through a breakup."

"I love this kind of story," a woman at the far end of the table says.

"As do I," Gwaine says graciously. "I'm crossing the streets now, hands in my pockets, eyes on my shoes, barely aware of anything. Next thing I know, I hear a car honk- and a body crashes into me."

He pauses dramatically. He has the attention of the entire table. "I open my eyes, and there's Merlin- all elbows and knees and blue eyes." Gwaine shoots Merlin a small smile and a girl somewhere coos.

"He saved my life," Gwaine continues. "He's on top of me, pinning me to the ground- apologizing or some other nonsense. But I feel the ground rumble and hear someone yell and somehow I  _know_ \- I know that another car's coming at us."

"Oh my," someone gasps.

Gwaine nods gravely. "I break out of my stupor long enough to grab his shoulders and  _roll_ , and the car swerves past, and we're safe."

A few of the intent listeners sigh in relief. Gwaine smiles and bows his head.

"And how'd you two get together?"

Gwen chokes on her drink, and Lance immediately pounds her on the back while offering a glass of water with the other hand. Merlin winces and sends her a glance, hoping his eyes hold enough apology.

"Yes, how  _did_  you two get together?"

It's Arthur, eyes hard. Merlin looks around; everyone at the table seems to be staring at him and Gwaine expectedly. Even Leon looks curious.

"It's not that great a story," Merlin says.

"Merlin, don't be bashful. It certainly  _is_."

"It  _isn't_." Merlin elbows Gwaine's side as discreetly as he can manage. "Gwaine asked me out, I said yes."

"But Merlin, you've cut out so many of the details." Gwaine leans over him, getting too close. "Tell them the whole story, darling."

Merlin narrows his eyes at him. " _You_  tell the story."

But then Gwaine leans back and returns his attention to the crowd, pushing his hair from his eyes, and Merlin realizes what a mistake he made.

"As you wish, love." Gwaine flourishes his arms, a grand motion that attracts everyone's attention; as if he didn't already have it. "I asked out Merlin... in a mental institution."

The table falls utterly silent.

"Merlin was there visiting a fellow med student who'd gone  _mad_ due to the pressure," Gwaine says. A few of the women give Merlin cursory looks, and he calms himself by imagining the many creative ways he could get back at Gwaine for this.

"And  _I_ was there visiting Johnny Depp."

Mithian frowns. "The American actor?"

"At a mental institution in England?"

" _Well_. He thought he was Johnny Depp." Gwaine cracks a grin and gets a few answering laughs. "No, the poor fellow was deluded. I was visiting as part of a program- charity work."

A few of the girls coo, and more than one bat their eyelashes suggestively at Gwaine. Merlin rolls his eyes.

"So there I am," Gwaine proceeds. "Speaking to Johnny about candy and pirates when Merlin walks in, breezing from the electric shock therapy room."

His voice drops dramatically, and it carries a tone of wonder. "It was a Merlin I'd never seen before. Strong. Beautiful. A  _vision_... in black."

Arthur's voice breaks in, like a shock of cold water. "Black?"

All heads turn to him. But Arthur's eyes are on Merlin, Merlin alone. "You don't wear black."

Merlin opens his mouth, but before he could form words to speak-  _and what was I going to say anyway? Stupid, stupid, stupid_ \- Gwaine intervenes.

"He  _does_  wear black. Sometimes, Merlin wears black. Trust me, I'd remember." Gwaine's fingertips ghost over Merlin's collar, over the skin there. "His skin looked so white against it."

Merlin pulls back abruptly.

Gwaine goes on, unperturbed. "I said to myself... 'Is this Merlin? Is this the same Merlin I've always known?'"

A few of the women have their hands clasped in front of their chests. Mithian is at the edge of her seat. Gwen looks vaguely nauseated. Morgana looks like Christmas came early.

"I looked at Johnny, and I said... 'This is Merlin, but  _this_  Merlin is a siren.'" Gwaine's voice drops. "'Could this siren love me? Could my  _friend_  love me?'"

Someone sniffles. Merlin is tempted to bang his head against the table.

"So I looked again... and in that moment, in that  _moment_ , I knew-"

Gwaine lifts his finger, pointing, and Merlin grabs it before he can get into his stride. "We don't all  _need_  to know what you knew."

A chorus of raised protests meets this, and Merlin blinks.

"See? They  _do_." Gwaine shakes his hand free of Merlin's and proceeds. "In that moment I knew that this was what I wanted. To end up like this."

"Aw," someone coos.

"So I look at Johnny, and I say... 'Johnny, what do I do?'" Gwaine imitates his supposedly helpless and confused tone at the moment. "And Johnny said..."

Here, Gwaine pauses.

He pauses for so long that people begin to shift in their chairs uncomfortably. Mithian stares at Gwaine, then Merlin, then at Arthur with a question in her eyes. Arthur shrugs and tucks into his wine. Gwen shakes her head and buries her head in her arms.

Finally, it's Sophia that breaks the silence. Her eyes are wide, and it's obvious she's hanging on to every word. "What did he say?"

After another moment of pregnant pause, Gwaine opens his mouth.

" _The moment I wake up_."

Merlin's jaw drops. Gwaine is  _singing_.

" _Before I put on my make-up_."

Mithian breaks into laughter, covering her mouth with her hands. Mithian's aunt lets out an "awww" and leans into her husband, who sits beside her.

" _I say a little prayer for youuu!_ "

It's Morgana, singing at the top of her voice- and it's shocking and  _beautiful_ , and several screams of delight erupt from the diners. Even Gwaine smiles, giving Morgana a subtle nod that Merlin catches.

Gwaine resumes serenading Merlin. " _While combing my hair now_..." A few of the older men at the table chuckle into their napkins, and the women are giggling unabashedly, staring at Gwaine with lights in their eyes. And Gwaine is certainly a sight; hands moving about theatrically, his hair a dark halo around his head, his voice rich and full and low.

" _While wondering what dress to wear now.._."

Sophia and Vivian exchange a look, then break into song together. " _I say a little prayer for youuuu_."

And then Mithian's father starts it, landing his glass on the table with a definitive  _clink_  and pressing his hands together.

" _Forever, and ever, you'll stay in my heart and I will love you forever, and ever, we never will part and how I love you together, forever, that's how it must be, to live without you would only mean heartbreak for meee!_ "

By the time he's through with the chorus, nearly everyone on the table has joined in. Sophia and Vivian and most of the girls are singing at the tops of their voice. The older women hold their husbands' hands, singing together. Even  _Uther_  is smiling, though his lips are pressed together tightly. Gwen seems to have relaxed somewhat, leaning on Lance's chest with their clasped hands resting over her heart. Mithian is clutching Arthur's arm and singing to him, and  _Arthur_ \- Arthur is looking straight at Merlin.

" _I run for the bus, dear._.."

It's Gwaine again, solo. He loops an arm around Merlin's shoulders and nuzzles him, his breath hot on his neck. Merlin blushes.

" _While riding I think of us, dear_."

Merlin hears Arthur cough and is certain that his ears are beet-red by now. Gently, he pushes Gwaine away, who backs off but keeps an arm slung around Merlin.

Sophia sings at the top of her voice. " _I say a little prayer for you.._."

" _At work I just take time..._ " Gwaine smiles, and Merlin feels the momentary press of it against his ear. " _And all through my coffee break time..._ "

Mithian and Sophia and a few other voices chip in for the next line. " _I say a little prayer for youuu._ "

The chorus comes again, and with it a crescendo of voices. Everyone's sitting up, singing at the tops of their voices, smiling until their cheeks must hurt at their friends and lovers. Everyone but Merlin and Arthur, it seems. Arthur's staring intently at him, gaze not wavering at all- and Merlin sneaks peaks at him from underneath his lashes, unable to handle much more.

Gwaine leans in, and Merlin wonders if the idiot was ever taught the concept of personal space. " _My darling, believe me.._."

Sophia joins in. " _Believe hiiim!_ "

" _For me, there is no one but you_." Gwaine is practically singing into Merlin's hair. " _Please love me too_."

" _Answer his prayer!_ " Sophia sings.

" _And I'm in love with youu-_ "

" _Answer his prayer!_ "

" _Now, answer my prayer baby_."

" _Answer his praaayer..._!"

" _Forever, and ever, you'll stay in my heart-_ "

The table launches into the chorus again, and Merlin pulls back, dizzy. Everyone's singing, clapping,  _happy_. Even Gwaine's head is tossed back as he sings, not a care in the world. Mithian squeezes Leon's hand and beams at him, which has him blushing. Gwen and Lance are hunched over, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. Merlin watches them all and feels misery creep into his stomach.

Mithian presses a kiss to Arthur's cheek, which he responds to by patting her hand.

The song draws to a close, Gwaine wrapping it up with a final high note. Applause breaks out, unfettered and happy, and Merlin gives Arthur a shaky smile.

He doesn't respond.

"Excuse me." Merlin pushes his chair back, not at all sure who he's talking to. "I need some air."

Someone points out that they're already outside, but it doesn't matter; they're behind him. Merlin walks at a brisk pace and finds the air startlingly clear, stabbing at his lungs.

A few minutes later, the peace is disturbed by an irritatingly familiar voice.

" _Merrrrrlinnn_."

Merlin turns around, sticking his fists into his pockets. "Dionne Warwick?  _Really_?"

Gwaine shrugs, a grin on his face. "At least I'm not predictable. Gotta give me that."

Merlin rolls his eyes. " _Sure_. I'm half tempted to punch you, you know."

"Eh. It'd be worth it. That was  _fun_."

" _Fun_?!"

"I've always wanted to be in a musical."

Merlin shakes his head- Gwaine is  _hopeless_ \- just as Gwaine wraps an arm around his shoulder. "I've done you a solid, though."

Merlin snorts. "Hard to believe."

"You wound me." He sounds serious, and this startles Merlin into looking at him. "I've talked to Arthur. He's going for his final fitting after this, and I've made it so that you're going with him."

Merlin blinks. " _Really_?"

Gwaine nods, giving him a gentle smile- and Merlin wonders what he looks like, if Gwaine's suddenly gone all soft. "Yeah."

Struck by impulse, Merlin leans forward and wraps his arms around his friend. "Thank you."

"Well, you're best man. Wasn't hard," Gwaine says dismissively. But Merlin only tightens his hold, and he smiles when Gwaine responds in turn.

* * *

Arthur watches the embrace and wonders why it feels like someone's punched him in the stomach.

"You alright, little brother?"

He starts; though he knows the voice, knows the only person they could belong to. "I'm fine." He answers without turning.

The clacking of heels against stone signal Morgana's approach; a moment later, she's standing beside him. She rests her pale arms against the smooth wood of the barrier and jerks her chin to where Merlin and Gwaine stand, arms wrapped around each other.

"They look happy."

Arthur nods, the motion jerky. "Yeah. Yeah, they do."

Morgana looks at him, and Arthur holds back a shudder. Sometimes- sometimes Morgana's eyes, green and wide and  _knowing_ , look into him a little too closely. But no- it must be his imagination, or the lighting.

"Are  _you_  happy?"

Arthur opens his mouth and gets ready to deliver the standard answer- then freezes. He struggles to make his throat work, finally settling for stretching out his hands in a helpless gesture.

"I  _was_ ," he says, and that's the truth.

Morgana nods as though she understands. For some reason, this makes Arthur angry.

"Were you- were you  _with_  him?" He doesn't know why he's asking, doesn't know why it's relevant, doesn't know if it even  _is_. But now that the question's in the air between them he's breathing hard, dying to know.

Morgana, infuriatingly enough, rolls her eyes and chuckles deep in her throat. "He's gay, Arthur."

Arthur's mouth is open and he's ready to tell her off, for mocking him and for mocking  _this_ , when-

"Do you think I'd do that to you?" Morgana lifts a brow. "I wouldn't. God only knows what's wrong with your head if you think that, Arthur..."

Arthur looks down. He feels like a boy again, feels stupid like he used to when she'd beat him at something, at everything.

"You need to fix it, whatever it is."

Arthur nods, and his voice is hoarse when he uses it. "I know. I just..."

And there are those eyes again, that look; inviting Arthur to  _talk_ , to trust. And because there's so much to say and not nearly enough whiskey to get through it, because there's so much suddenly falling into place and it's too overwhelming, Arthur takes the coward's way out.

"It just looked like it was," he says. "You two looked pretty close- and I suppose you are. You're friends."

"Yeah. We're friends." Morgana returns her gaze to the horizon, and Arthur thinks he catches a hint of disappointment there.

"I guess Freya was a figment of my imagination too?"

Morgana gives him a look and Arthur sighs. "I should have known. I don't know why- shit, I've been acting mad this weekend."

Morgana shrugs. "I won't argue with that. But Freya... that was one-sided."

Arthur winces; he knows what  _that_ feels like.

"You, Freya, and Gwaine." Arthur bites his lip, holding back the bitterness. "Merlin's a lucky man."

Morgana eyes rest on something- probably Merlin, Arthur thinks, but he's not masochistic enough to follow her gaze and find out. Her lips curve in a soft smile.

"We're all a little in love with Merlin, aren't we?"

Arthur swallows and stares at his shoes, because that's a little too close to the truth for comfort.

* * *

"Aren't we going to your fitting?"

Arthur barely looks away from the road. "Yeah. After this."

Merlin raises a brow. "After  _what_?"

Arthur shrugs. "Just thought- I don't know, we haven't spent much time together. Thought we might get away for an hour, before things really get hectic."

Merlin purses his lips; he's delighted, of course, but mystified. "I thought you were angry with me," he tests.

"When did I say I was  _angry_  with you?"

Now Merlin shrugs. "You didn't, but you acted angry."

"I did  _not_."

"You did."

Arthur shakes his head. "What reason did I have for being angry with you, anyway? None, see?"

Merlin scoffs. "That never stopped you before."

Arthur cuffs him on the shoulder, but it's fond, and that floods Merlin with warmth.

"I'm joking, you know," Merlin says, because he doesn't want to ruin this. "I'm glad we're... I'd love to get away for a bit, spend some time with you."

Arthur doesn't look at him, but Merlin watches the corners of his mouth curl. "Sure."

A few minutes later, Arthur parks near the unmistakeable tan-and-blue of the beach. A few minutes more, and they're boarding a skiff, and Merlin feels as if something's been let loose in his chest.

"This is  _beautiful_ , Arthur." He runs to the edge of the boat, tilts so that all he can see is the blue-green of the seawater.

Strong hands grab onto his hips, and pull. "Get away from the edge, idiot."

Merlin pouts; and tells his heart to stop stuttering like a fourteen-year-old girl's. "Are you going to be acting like a mother hen on the entire ride, Arthur?"

Arthur lets out an exasperated sound. "It's not a  _ride_." He reaches forward and ruffles Merlin's hair. "God, you're a child."

"You  _are_! You are acting like a mother hen!"

"Shut up," Arthur scowls.

"Nobody has fun when you act that way, Arthur- I've got half a mind to get off the skiff."

Arthur snaps. "So what am I supposed to do then- not worry about you?"

He sounds serious, and  _upset_ , and Merlin wonders dazedly when they stopped joking.

_What am I supposed to do, not worry about you?_

"I'm sorry." Merlin reaches for Arthur's shoulder- wants to let his hand shift lower, touch, but gives a brief squeeze instead. "I didn't mean anything. You're not too insufferable when you worry, really. It's one of your more tolerable states, to be honest."

Arthur shakes his head, but he's smiling. "Babbling fool."

"Whatever you say." Merlin grins, agreeable, because Arthur hasn't noticed that Merlin's hand is still on his shoulder-  _or_  he doesn't mind.

But then Arthur does notice, casting Merlin's hand a suspicious little glance, and Merlin pulls back before things can get awkward.

They enjoy themselves for the next hour. The sky is bright and the water smells clean and the sway of the boat is hyptonic. Merlin and Arthur alternate between sitting together and walking up and down the boat, and Merlin basks in their proximity, in the comfortable silence.

"By the way," Arthur says cheerily at some point. "This isn't a skiff."

"What?" They're both lazy from the sun, and niether particularily minds.

"You kept calling it a  _skiff_. This isn't a skiff."

Merlin hits him. "Insufferable snob."

"Just saying."

Merlin smiles. "You should have been a lawyer."

Too late, he realizes his mistake.

"At least  _you_  fit perfectly into your profession."

Arthur's tone isn't slow and relaxed anymore. Inwardly, Merlin curses himself.

"And you're doing your dream job," Merlin says, desperate to rectify the situation. "That's more than a lot of people have."

"Right," Arthur scoffs. "What I wanted is what Gwen and Lance have. That feeling. That partership. That's what I  _wanted_."

Reeling from this sudden change of subject, Merlin takes a moment before responding. "Isn't- that's not what you have, right now?"

Arthur stares at the sea, his jaw an unrelenting line. "Mithian... she sacrificed a lot for me. To be with me."

Merlin knows what he's saying, knows the taint of uncertainty in Arthur's voice may ultimately work in his favor, but suddenly he's  _angry,_ because-

"You're such a  _prat_." Merlin says it with such fervor that Arthur's gaze snaps to him. "Why should everyone have to sacrifice for  _you_?"

Instead of blowing up or giving a heated retort or a cruel dismissal, Arthur's shoulders sag.

"It's... I don't know what it is." He sounds lost. "I've been taught so from  _birth_ , I guess, and... some things are just so  _fucked_  into you that you can't go back from them."

Merlin reaches for Arthur's hand. "You're not fucked up. You're great."

Arthur chuckles incredulously. "You just called me a prat."

"And you are," Merlin insists cheerily. "But you're a great one. The greatest prat I've ever known."

Arthur stares at him for a moment, then up at the sky as though it'll give him some answers.

"What am I going to  _do_  with you?" Arthur groans, and Merlin lets him because he's still holding onto his hand.

* * *

"Impeccable, sir."

Merlin catches his breath and tries not to stare, because  _impeccable_  is certainly the word for it. Arthur's standing on a short stool, dressed in his suit. The cut is flawless; it accentuates the bold line of his shoulders, the straight line of his back. The lapels hang off his frame  _just so_ , hugging his chest and accentuating the broadness of it. The seam of the breast pocket is near invisible, as is the gold tint that comes off the red tie when the light catches it. And Merlin was wrong, Merlin was so so wrong- the tie isn't garish at  _all_ , not when it's on Arthur, not when the shine of gold in it matches his hair. The shirt is white and crisp and the cufflinks gold; the trousers are expertly tailored and the curve of Arthur's arse has never looked so good. The mirrors catch and reflect Arthur's image so that there's a dozen perfect Arthurs, and Merlin's never felt so surrounded, so breathless.

"Merlin? What do you think?"

The sound startles him; words don't belong in this place of rapture.

"It's perfect, sir. Impeccable!" This comes from the tailor, who stands in the corner with measuring tape around his neck and his hands clasped in front of him, so much pride on his face that he might be viewing a work of art.

" _Merlin_? Close your mouth."

His jaw snaps shut with an audible snap. "Excuse me?"

Arthur smirks, descending from the podium. "You were gawping like a fish."

Merlin's mouth opens again, indignant this time. "I was  _not_!"

Arthur shrugs. "Were too."

"Hmph."

"Am I  _fat_  now, Merlin?"

Merlin shakes his head before he can stop himself. "No. Far from it."

Arthur, fiddling with the cufflinks, looks up at Merlin then; really  _looks_. Merlin's ears ring with the words Gwaine, Gwen, and Lance left him with, chanted like a mantra:  _Tell him the truth, tell him the truth, tell him the truth._

Then Arthur clears his throat. "I never properly congratulated you."

"On what?"

"You and Gwaine." Just like that, Arthur's not looking at him anymore; his cufflinks seem to be of immense importance. "You haven't had anyone serious in a while, and... this is good. Good for you."

Though he's annoyed, because Arthur can be just so  _stupid_ , Merlin can't help but notice how Arthur sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

He takes a breath, then takes the plunge. "Yeah. About that."

Merlin takes a small delight in the way Arthur's head snaps up quickly, so quickly that it must hurt. He delights in the way Arthur's eyes widen, like there's  _hope_.

"Yeah?" says Arthur, and there's hope there too.

"About Gwaine and I... there's a bit of a huge misunderstanding there."

Merlin watches Arthur inhale, exhale. "Really?"

"Yeah." Merlin bites his lip, suddenly shy; what if Arthur takes this badly? What if he embarrasses himself beyond repair?

He shakes his mind free of those thoughts and continues. "When we were talking, at the church... you assumed I was talking about Gwaine. And, um, I was a bit shocked, and it was already bloody embarrassing enough so... I went along with it."

Arthur's eyes are huge in his face.

"It just seemed easier, at the time. It's stupid, I know, but.. Gwaine and I aren't together."

Arthur's eyebrows come together as though he's trying to underrstand. "But... Gwaine?"

Merlin chuckles. "Yeah, I begged him to go along with it so it wouldn't all turn out even more humiliating. Considering we had a musical at lunch, I guess I should have taken my chances, eh?"

Arthur laughs, the sound bright and clear and brilliant. "Wow.  _Wow_. So you two  _aren't_  together?"

Merlin shakes his head. "No. Just friends."

Arthur nods, another breathy exhale escaping him. Merlin tilts his head. "Why do you sound so relieved?"

Arthur looks like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "What? I'm not- I'm not  _relieved_."

"You  _look_  relieved." Merlin grins, loving the way Arthur squirms in his expensive shoes and his expensive pants and the way that flush is creeping up his neck. "Why?"

Arthur seems to deflate suddenly, his shoulders sagging, a sigh leaving him. "Alright, Merlin, it's true. I was... I was jealous."

Merlin's heart is thumping, too big, too big to fit in his ribcage. "Jealous?"

"Yes." Arthur glances at Merlin from beneath his lashes, almost guiltily. "I kept looking at Gwaine and... remembering what  _we_  had, and..."

Merlin stares at Arthur, mouth dry.

"I wanted to be him," Arthur admits, voice low; a confession, a secret. "I wanted to be  _yours_."

His chest almost bursts; Merlin's in disbelief. This is everything he's ever wanted, everything he's been striving for, handed to him on a silver platter with Arthur looking so uncertain and  _endearing_  and-

But the calculating part of him- the part planted by Morgana- is fixatedly aware of Arthur's use of the past tense, and it isn't enough. So Merlin takes a breath and plunges, again.

"Do you- do you still want to?" Merlin's aware of the way he looks, of the vulnerability in his eyes, of the way he's wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Arthur's jaw hardens, and his gaze snaps from Merlin's face.

"There's Mithian," he says, and he sounds both determined and helpless. "She's- I have a  _duty_."

Merlin stares incredulously. "A duty? What- what's a  _duty_  when there's your entire life's happiness at stake?"

Arthur stares at Merlin for a few seconds, gaze inscrutable, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Then he scoffs. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Merlin."

Merlin clenches his jaw and wills himself not to be hurt by that, to look past it. "Arthur.  _Arthur_ , look at me."

Because he won't, Merlin closes the gap between them and places his hands on either side of Arthur's face. He tries not to focus on the way Arthur's lips part in surprise when his hands come in contact with his skin.

And then, when there's a hair's breadth between them and they're looking only at each other and there's no room for lies, Merlin asks. "Do you love Mithian?"

A beat, a pause, and Merlin holds his breath.

Then Arthur reaches up and very carefully pries Merlin's fingers from his cheeks. Merlin swallows as Arthur-  _no, no_ \- forces Merlin's hands back to his sides.

"What I said before- that was a moment of weakness." Arthur's expression had gone cold. "I'm marrying Mithian tomorrow."

Merlin takes a step back. He feels something catch in his throat, and-  _fuck, fuck no, don't cry, not in front of him._

But Arthur doesn't wait around to watch, sweeping from the room with the line of his back as straight as ever, and Merlin- Merlin tries to tell himself that the clenching in his chest  _isn't_  his heart breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, Gwaine was fun to write.
> 
> Please leave comments + kudos! I await them!


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I'm posting this at 10 AM and I haven't slept a wink tonight (today? lol), just wanted to get this update out to you. Enjoy!
> 
> This isn't the end! One more chapter before c&c is over.

“Mithian and Arthur are in a fight,” Gwen informs Merlin when he returns to the hotel hours later, the afternoon long since melted into evening. She whispers and glances around conspiratorially, as if it wouldn’t do to speak about such matters in the open. “Mithian and Freya, too.”

Merlin starts; even through the haze caused by Arthur’s earlier dismissal, he knows this isn’t good. “ _What?_ Why, what happened?”

Gwen shrugs, eyes widening and her fingers splaying helplessly. “I don’t know! Why don’t _you_ tell me?”

Merlin stares fixedly at his shoes. “What are you talking about? I wasn’t even here.”

Gwen’s narrow, shrewd gaze tells him she doesn’t buy a word of it. “Fine, don’t tell me. But I know it has something to do with you. One minute everything’s fine, and the next Arthur is back from his fitting in a _mood_ and Mithian’s having it out with him.”

Merlin winces. “Having it out with him?”

“Yeah.” The confirmation comes from behind Gwen’s shoulder, and a smiling Morgana joins them. “Well done, Merlin.”

For some reason, Merlin is affronted at this. “I didn’t do anything.”

Morgana and Gwen both arch their eyebrows at him. Merlin sighs.

“ _Alright_. I’ll tell you what happened if you tell me.”

“Fair enough,” Morgana agrees. She settles herself comfortably in the nearest of the lobby’s plush armchairs. “Nobody has _exact_ details-”

Merlin gives a disbelieving snort.

Morgana grins, giving up her attempt at a disclaimer. “Alright, I eavesdropped…. with a glass. Apparently, lunch today had Mithian thinking. About giving up her career and all. I didn’t hear the beginning, but I think she was trying to get Arthur to consider alternatives to traveling all the time, because that meant she’d give everything up. I got the sense that this wasn’t the first time she’d thought about it.”

“Of course not,” Gwen intervenes, sounding sensible. “She’s only human, after all.”

Morgana continues. “Arthur wasn’t too cooperative. But Mithian didn’t really get angry until she brought her father into it.”

“Her father?” Merlin prompts.

“Yes,” Morgana says. “She moved here from England to stay close to him. They’re very close- I heard a lot of mention of how much they mean to each other, after her mother died.”

“Oh,” Merlin says quietly. “So it wasn’t just about her career, then.”

“No,” Morgana confirms. “But Arthur still wouldn’t give, not even a bit, and that’s when Mithian got really angry. I caught mention of another job that Mithian’s father offered Arthur, apparently- some corporate writing gig. She said it would even pay better, so she didn’t see what was the problem…”

Morgana trails off, and Merlin shakes his head, understanding. “Oh, no.”

“Yes.” Morgana nods solemnly. “All hell broke loose. Arthur was _furious_ , saying this was her plan all along, to rope him into her family’s clutches, and that he didn’t get away from one corporate ‘phony-fest’ to get trapped into another.”

Gwen is shaking her head, an expression of mild disapproval on her face. “What is wrong with him?”

Morgana bites her bottom lip, taking a moment before speaking. “More than what’s on the surface, that’s obvious. I was talking to him earlier, and… with all this… how insensitive and _irrational_ he’s being, it’s obvious this shit runs deep.”

“Poor Arthur,” Gwen coos, shifting from disapproving to worried in the way only Gwen can.

Morgana nods. “Now they won’t speak to each other. Arthur’s locked in his room, and Mithian’s out.”

“What about Freya?” Merlin asks.

Gwen’s brow furrows. “I’m not too sure about that. I didn’t hear any of it - did you, Morgana? - and I don’t know them well enough to be able to tell…”

Morgana shakes her head, barely checking a smile. “Oh god, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Merlin and Gwen both look at her expectantly, expressions blank.

“I’ve got to spell everything out, haven’t I?” Morgana sighs and leans forward in her chair. “Merlin. Since we’ve been here, has Mithian ever mentioned you being gay?”

“Yeah.” Merlin remembers it cropping up in their conversations more than once; hell, they talked about him and Arthur more than he and Arthur did.

“Has she ever mentioned it when you two weren’t alone?”

Merlin searches his memory, still not sure where Morgana is going with this. “Uh…”

“Exactly,” Morgana sits back, satisfied. “Merlin, I don’t think she’s told anyone that you’re gay.”

Merlin blinks. “What?”

“Much less that you were with _Arthur_ ,” Morgana goes on. “I think she’s keeping it a secret. And Freya liked you, and when she found out that you were gay today, she was angry at Mithian for not telling her.”

A few things click into place. “That explains some of Freya’s behavior,” he muses.

But Gwen looks furious. “Why would Mithian keep Merlin’s sexuality a secret? Is she- is she a _homophobe_?”

“Don’t worry, love, no need to sic Lance on her.” Morgana reaches over and pats Gwen’s arm in a reassuring manner. “No, I think she’s just a little insecure about it, and maybe she doesn’t want to deal with how people would react on top of all the other stress.”

“God.” Gwen closes her eyes and presses her fingertips to her temples, massaging. “What a mess.”

“Indeed.” Morgana fixes her gaze on Merlin, pointedly. “Want to enlighten us on why that is? Perhaps what happened between you and Arthur after lunch?”

Gwen looks up, apparently curious enough to forego her attempt at relaxation, and Merlin sighs.

He recounts what unfolded on the boat and at Arthur’s fitting. He skips over the gory details; his chest still clenches unpleasantly when he recalls the way Arthur’s hands had coldly pried his fingers from his face, and Merlin has no desire to relive that in front of a concerned audience.

And it’s a good thing Merlin takes such precautions, because the audience grows; Lance and Gwaine join the circle, and Merlin has to repeat earlier parts of the story twice so that they’re both caught up. By the time he’s through, his eyes are sparkling despite his best efforts, and Gwen silently hands him a tissue.

“So then I just took off for a bit, walked it off,” Merlin sniffles, the sound too loud and pathetic in his ears. “Didn’t work as well as it should have.”

Lance leans over and gives Merlin’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m _really_ sorry, Merlin.”

Gwen nods, and even Gwaine looks subdued.

“I hate my brother,” Morgana states.

Merlin rolls his eyes. As he does so, he feels his mood lift marginally; as always, Morgana’s uninhibited reaction cheers him up. “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” Morgana swears. “I’m going to kill him.”

“I think Mithian had it right- we all need to cool off.” Gwaine rises from his perch on the arm of Gwen’s chair, stretching his arms. “Who’s for drinks?”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “It’s not even five.”

Gwaine responds with another eye roll. “So?”

A third eye roll. “So, it’s appallingly early-”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“ _And_ it wouldn’t do to show up at the rehearsal dinner knackered.”

Gwaine shrugs. “Maybe they’re not having one anymore.”

Gwen sends him a sharp glare, and Gwaine shrugs again. “ _What_? Aren’t we all Team Merlin here?”

“First off, there aren’t _teams_ ,” Gwen admonishes. “Second, though we are supporting Merlin, we shouldn’t openly wish harm and unhappiness on others.”

At that, Gwaine mutters retorts beneath his breath but sits down again. Merlin drags a hand through his hair. “ _Shit_. I forgot all about that.”

“It’ll be fine,” Gwen says immediately, soothing. “We’ll be there. Just sit through it, it’ll be fine.”

“What if I’m supposed to give a speech or something?”

“I can find out for you,” Morgana offers, pulling out her phone.

“From _who_? The groom, the bride, or the maid of honor, who hates my guts?”

Gwen tuts, and Lance’s hand is on Merlin’s shoulder again. “No one hates you, Merlin. No one _could_ hate you.”

“I second that,” Gwaine says, raising a hand. “You’re the greatest bloke I’ve ever met, Merlin. I’d go so far as to call you my best friend.”

“Would you, now?”

It’s a new voice, very amused and very familiar. Merlin turns, though he hears Gwen’s gasp of surprise and delight.

Behind him is Percy, grinning broadly, and it seems to make Gwaine lose control.

He yells Percy’s name and seems to launch himself across the room. Nobody is able to catch the finer details; the motion is too quick. But then Gwaine and Percy are pulling out of a hug, and they stand arm in arm, and Elena, by Percy’s other side, is smiling ridiculously.

Gwaine leans over and presses a kiss to Elena’s cheek. “Missed you two.”

“Yeah, figured that out,” Elena laughs, but she leans into Gwaine’s slight embrace. “We missed you, too.”

The others rise and offer their greetings. Elena, Gwen, and Morgana end up in a sort of private female huddle, and Percy dwarfs Merlin in a hug.

“Heard you were in a bit of a fix, Merlin,” Percy says, expression gone serious.

Merlin sighs. “Yeah, that sums it up.”

“Hey, Morgana!”

Morgana turns, giving Gwaine one of her best glares.

“No matter _what_ you say,” Gwaine says, smiling triumphantly. “Drinks are in order now.”

* * *

They don’t get drinks; at least, not all of them do. Gwaine, Percy, and Elena leave the hotel, with promises to a disapproving Gwen that they won’t get _too_ drunk. When they reappear, hours later, they’ve somehow got a mollified Freya in tow. Morgana also departs, heading for a nearby café, where she says she’s meeting Morgause. Lance and Gwen retire to their room, after several attempts to involve Merlin in some sort of activity that didn’t involve moping. Merlin refuses them all, smiling a little crookedly when Gwen starts to worry her lip and assuring her that he’s absolutely fine on his own.

He ends up staying in the now empty lobby, ordering a coffee, staring at it, then going to his room and changing his clothes for the rehearsal dinner several hours early.

A few minutes after seven, he departs from the lift with shoulders slumped. Morgana and Morgause are waiting for him, heels tapping impatiently.

“ _There_ you are,” Morgana says, the words exaggeratedly impatient from her ruby red lips. Morgause narrows her eyes at him, chilling Merlin to the bone.

“I’m not that late,” he defends feebly. “Just a few minutes.”

“They’re keeping the car waiting,” Morgause says, disapproval dripping from her voice.

“Hello, Morgause,” Merlin says, deadpan. “Good trip?”

She doesn’t answer, snagging Morgana’s arm and pulling her ahead. Merlin barely keeps from rolling his eyes as he follows them.

Gwen is standing outside, a pretty picture in a short purple dress. She takes Merlin’s hand and tugs him a bit too forcefully towards the car, shooting Morgause a glare over her shoulder.

“Gwen.” Merlin tries to wriggle his hand in the vice grip she has over it.

“Yeah?” Gwen says distractedly. “You alright, Merlin? Feeling better?”

“Dandy. Gwen, what’s wrong?”

She looks at him for a moment, then her expression dissolves into a nervous smile. “Just a bit nervous, I guess. And Morgause. She always gets on my nerves.”

Merlin leans into the small space between them and presses a kiss to her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

She blushes. “Thank you, Merlin.”

The long, sleek car holds most of his friends; Lance scoots over to make room for his wife, and Gwaine pats the empty space next to him. Merlin awkwardly crawls over a few people to reach it, almost falling on top of Percy, which makes Elena laugh.

As soon as Morgana and Morgause climb in, the car jerks into motion. Small conversations spring up; Percy and Lance argue about football, Gwen and Elena discuss work. Merlin is overly conscious of Freya, on the other side of Gwaine, deathly quiet with her hands wrung in her lap.

Gwaine pats his knee reassuringly. Merlin gives him a shaky smile.

The weight of the evening is suddenly felt, descending heavily upon Merlin’s shoulders. Tonight is _it_ ; either he finds a way to get Arthur back, or he’ll be lost to him forever. He won’t get another chance, short of dramatically shouting “ _I object_ ” while Arthur stands at the altar.

The image of Arthur standing at the altar, Mithian by his side, is enough to roil his stomach. Merlin concentrates on holding back the urge to vomit during the rest of the car ride.

Eventually, the car slows and stops. Merlin is the first to climb out, sucking the fresh air into his lungs, trying to ignore the soft light emerging from the restaurant before him.

He feels a hand at his back, tentative. “You alright, Merlin?”

“Sure. Yeah.”

But Lance still looks worried, even as Gwen takes his arm. “Take your time, Merlin. We’ll be inside.”

Lance’s brow furrows as he looks at her, puzzled, but Gwen tugs on his arm insistently, and as they walk away Merlin watches her lean in to whisper something in his ear.

“Merlin?”

Freya is standing behind him, hands clasped in front of her, tentative gaze on him. Merlin takes the few steps that would bridge the gap between them.

Freya clears her throat. “I realize this is the second time I apologize to you in two days, and you must be…. sick of me.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Freya-”

“No, let me finish.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and begins again. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t angry with you but I was still rude to you, and I wasn’t nice to you when I had no reason to be, and…”

Freya sighs. “A maid of honor is supposed to be gracious… welcoming. I wasn’t.”

“Freya. You don’t have to worry.” Merlin considers putting a hand on her shoulder, then thinks better of it. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her chest, as if barely holding herself together.

Freya’s mouth twists into a small smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry if I… said something I shouldn’t have.” Merlin scuffs at the floor with his ridiculously overpriced shoes, marveling at his ridiculously understated apology. He wants to apologize for more than _that_ \- he wants to apologize for ruining what should have been a glowing time for her as maid of honor, a glowing time for Mithian and Arthur and everyone involved. He wants to apologize for everything he’s done. He wants to apologize for what he’s about to do.

Freya’s smile is tight, barely a curve of her lips. “You don’t have to worry.”

She walks off after echoing his words, not giving Merlin a chance to respond. He stands still for a moment, a lone deer in the warm passing headlights; and then he moves, going inside.

The hall is beautiful; small, lit with warm light from high chandeliers, the tables draped with gilded ivory cloth. The tables form two circles that line the empty middle, where a few brazen couples have already begun to dance.

Merlin feels a nudge at his shoulder. “Fancy, huh?”

It’s Elena, hand at her mouth, no doubt covering a mischievous smile. Merlin smiles in turn. “Yeah.”

“Come.” Elena inclines her head to where their friends are gathered, choosing seats. “We’ve saved you the best seat in the house.”

Merlin isn’t sure whether to be alarmed or comforted at that. He follows Elena to the round table, to a chair sandwiched between Gwen and Morgana. From this point, he realizes, he has a perfect view of Arthur.

Morgana seems a bit put off. “Shouldn’t we be at the head table? Me and Merlin, at least?”

Leon shrugs. “There isn’t much of a head table.” This is true; the head table is small, though the only rectangular table in the room, seating only Arthur, Mithian, Uther, and Mithian’s father.

Morgana is not consoled. “I’m his sister!”

“ _Half_ -sister,” Gwaine mutters beneath his breath, chuckling when he catches Merlin’s eye. Thankfully, Morgana doesn’t hear him.

On the other hand, Merlin is not too miffed about being on a table separate from Arthur’s. His friends are welcome company right now, welcome distractions. Besides, he needs to figure out what he’s going to do about Arthur before he faces him.

He needs to be definitive.

Beside him, Gwen sighs. “This hall is _gorgeous_.”

“Bit overdone, don’t you think?” Gwaine says. “This is only the rehearsal dinner, not the actual wedding.”

Morgana never wastes an opportunity to roll her eyes at Gwaine, and she does so now. “It’s Uther’s only son. I’m surprised a flock of white doves didn’t accompany Arthur at his entrance.”

“You’re right. That would have been appropriately tacky.”

Morgana glares at Gwaine, and Gwen quickly interrupts what would have been a heated back-and-forth. “It’s fancy, but not tacky. It’s tasteful. Elegant.”

“ _I’m_ having an outdoors wedding,” Elena declares, and Percy offers his view on the matter, and soon Merlin is zoning out flowers and color schemes and focusing on Arthur.

He’s sitting in the table directly across from theirs, staring into his lap. A dancing couple will occasionally flit across his vision, but when it passes, Arthur’s face is the same. Occasionally, he’ll look up; when a comment is directed at him, Merlin guesses, or when Uther claps him on the back, laughing. Arthur will smile, then, a wan hollow thing.

Mithian, at Arthur’s right side, looks no better.

Arthur looks up suddenly, meeting Merlin’s gaze. Caught by surprise, Merlin looks away; then, face burning, he engages Gwen and Lance in conversation.

The music fades into the background. Waiters begin to serve the first course, and Merlin picks at his food.

Presently, Morgana stands. “ _I’m_ going to dance.”

As she walks by, she touches Merlin’s shoulder. “I suggest you do the same,” she says, with a suggestive look in Arthur’s direction.

“Heard that,” Gwaine says, when Morgana is a reasonable distance away. He leans over Percy, who swats at him, and sets an arm on the back of Morgana’s empty chair. “Want to dance, boyfriend?”

Percy laughs. “I still can’t believe you did that, mate.”

“ _I_ can’t believe I missed it,” Elena adds. “You being even stupider than usual. It must have been a sight to behold.”

“Oh, yes, it was lovely,” Gwen says sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

They laugh again. Merlin smiles weakly, forking some salad into his mouth when Elena begins to rave about the fantastic dressing.

When a waiter removes his empty plate, Morgana returns to her seat. The waiter asks her if she’s through with her salad, untouched, and Morgana nods. “Just bring me more of this _fantastic_ wine.”

Merlin stares at her as she tips back her head and takes a large swallow. She evenly stares back. “ _What_?”

“What are you doing?” Merlin asks.

“What you’re not,” she scoffs. “I’m getting drunk, and I’m going dance. And then I think I’m going to get laid.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Whoa.”

Morgana shrugs, incorrigible. “You could learn a thing or two from me, you know.”

She tips back her wine once more before standing, joining the growing group of dancers in the middle of the room.

A few moments later, Gwen and Lance rise too. Then Percy and Elena. Merlin catches sight of Gwaine dancing with Freya, hands on her waist. Even Mithian is being spun around the room by Leon.

It’s just him and Arthur, alone on adjacent tables. On impulse, Merlin shoots him a wry smile.

After a moment, Arthur responds with a smile of his own.

Merlin is considering going over there, sitting next to him, saying whatever- he doesn’t care- when the chair beside him creaks with weight.

“You’re running out of time, mate.” Gwaine pops something into his mouth and forms his words around it.

“I’m aware of that,” Merlin says through his teeth. “Excuse-”

“Dance with me, Merlin?”

It’s Sophia, smiling sweetly, and Merlin reluctantly takes her hand.

Sophia is not a terrible dancer, and the song isn’t terrible either. Sophia stays mercifully quiet throughout the whole thing, and Merlin thinks that he may just enjoy this night a tiny bit when the song ends. He’s passed then to Elena while Percy takes Sophia’s hand, and Merlin spends the next few minutes trying to spare his toes the terror of Elena’s clumsy feet. But Elena’s bright company makes up for it- almost. Trying not to wince as he walks, Merlin is halfway back to his table when Morgana demands that he dance with her. Frightened by the slightly mad look in her eyes, Merlin complies.

Once in Morgana’s arms, she pulls him flush against her in a surprisingly strong tug. “Oof!”

“Hush.” Her voice is dramatically low and too close to his ear for comfort. “I want to ask you something.”

“This isn’t really helping people think nothing is going on between us…”

“I already talked to Arthur,” Morgana says dismissively. “Now _listen_.”

Her vice grip on Merlin tightens, bringing them closer, if that’s even possible. “Okay! I’m listening!”

“I’ve already asked Elena, but she doesn’t know… who’s _that_ guy?”

Merlin waits expectedly for her to release him. She doesn’t.

“Morgana, I can’t see your face, or any part of you really because you’re holding me so tight, so I don’t know who you’re talking about…”

Morgana loosens her grip on him, enough so that he could back up enough to see her face, then shifts her eyes subtly to the left.

Merlin looks in that direction, curious as to who captured Morgana’s eye. Gwaine and Freya are the first couple to their left, but Morgana couldn’t have been talking about Gwaine. Near them is another couple, swaying gently, and the young man has a familiar face.

But _that_ couldn’t be who Morgana is talking about.

“I’m not sure who you’re talking about, Morgana...”

“Green tie,” she says.

Merlin sneaks another cursory glance. Yes, it’s him. He doesn’t bother stifling a sigh.

“Morgana, he’s way younger than you…”

“Aha! So you know him!”

Merlin nods. “His name’s Mordred, he was on Arthur’s old rugby team. But-”

Morgana releases him, moves as though to make her way across the dance floor. “Mordred. Thanks, Merlin-”

“Morgana.” Merlin snags her forearm as she passes. “He’s, like, twenty one!”

Morgana arches a brow. “So?”

“He’s here with someone,” Merlin points out, jerking his chin towards the girl in Mordred’s arms.

“He’s just dancing with her. It doesn’t mean anything.” Morgana extracts himself from Merlin’s grip. “Wish me luck, Merlin!”

“I will _not_ ,” Merlin says, even as Morgana walks away and he knows she can’t hear him. “Ruining people’s lives,” he mutters beneath his breath, then freezes, realizing he’s doing exactly the same thing.

Feeling well and truly morose, Merlin drags himself back to his table, where he starts to stuff himself with pasta and tries not to think about Arthur and the clock he can hear ticking in his head.

“If everyone could please take their seats…” It’s Freya, standing at a table near Mithian’s, a microphone. Her cheeks are pink, but her voice is strong. “A few of us would like to make our toasts, and then dinner will be served.”

There’s subdued commotion as people pull out their chairs and take their seats. Merlin watches as Freya introduces Sophia and Vivian.

Sophia taps a glass to signal the start of her speech. “We’ve been friends with Mithian since university.”

“ _I’ve_ been friends with her my whole life,” Vivian cuts in.

“Yes. We were roommates- me, Freya, and Mithian. And I remember that we shared everything… makeup, clothes, even boyfriends.”

This earns a laugh from the room.

“Thank goodness, though, Mithian has found somebody we _haven’t_ dated to call her husband!”

Sophia smiles, but the laughs are significantly less this time.

“Even if we’d like to,” Vivian adds. “Arthur’s a great guy.”

Nobody laughs this time. Merlin winces. Beside him, Gwen has buried her face in her hands.

Freya quickly stands. “Thank you, thank you…”

“Mithian, you’re a sweetheart, and we wish you and Arthur all the best,” Sophia manages before Freya pushes her into her seat.

“ _Thank_ you,” Freya says firmly. “Now, a statement from the bride’s cousins, who’ve flown all the way from America to celebrate with us.”

A girl a few tables over stumbles to her feet. Merlin remembers her vaguely from lunch; _lunch_ , which felt like ages ago, but was in fact mere hours ago.

“Nimueh’s in the bathroom… I think.” Swaying on her feet, the girl brings a hand up to her mouth to stifle…. something. “But I’d like to talk to you all about something very serious. I lost my phone, and… in all honesty, I think someone’s stolen it, so please give it back. _Please_.”

Freya hurries over to the other table to push the obviously drunk girl back into her chair. Merlin feels a tap on his shoulder and sees Gwaine and Percy stifling laughter with their fists, Elena rolling her eyes at them. Gwen’s face is still in her hands.

“Our bridesmaids, everyone,” Freya says weakly, having returned to her table and retrieved the microphone. “Now the groom’s sister, who is also a bridesmaid…”

Merlin looks to Morgana, surprised; she didn’t mention to him that she was giving a speech. But Morgana looks indifferent as she gets to her feet, clutching the end of the table for support. Merlin winces. She’s been drinking.

But Morgana surprises him again; the words that come from her mouth are fluid and clear, and if she’s drunk, she does an impeccable job of hiding it. Then again, Merlin shouldn’t be surprised. Morgana would sooner be caught dead than in an even mildly compromising state.

“I think we can all agree that my little brother is… special.” The way she says the last word, with a note of her particular brand of teasing, makes everyone laugh. “And I think we can also agree that we’re entitled to thoroughly embarrassing our relatives at occasions like these. It’s practically a birth right. And since Mithian’s relatives did such an excellent job of it, I will graciously try to do the same.”

Everyone laughs, and there’s even a few stray claps in the crowd. Mithian’s face is red, and Arthur’s shaking his head, but both are smiling. Merlin looks up at Morgana with grudging admiration. She managed to effectively gloss over the fiascos of speeches prior to hers, without offending anyone or being overt. Merlin suspects that he’s not alone in his thoughts.

“Arthu _r_ _is_ special,” Morgana says, returning to her earlier point. “He’s brave, and smart, and strong, and rid _ic_ ulously noble and… don’t worry, I’ll get to the embarrassing bits! He’s competitive, but no matter how much he wanted to he could never quite beat me at board games, could you, Arthur?” She gives him a teasing smile. “Not when we were kids, and not now. I’m a better rugby player, too.”

This earns another round of laughter, and Arthur’s protests are vaguely heard in the din.

“I digress,” Morgana says, waving her hand, and attention returns to her. “Arthur is special. He’s all those things I said, but he’s also wonderful, and he has a big heart. A gigantic heart, and it holds affection for everyone, for everything. Maybe it weighs him down.”

Morgana pauses pensively. Merlin sneaks a glance at Arthur. He looks stricken, and Merlin thinks that Morgana definitely got it right. There’s a few curious glances and some titters in the lull.

But Morgana doesn’t let it last. She composes herself, her smile a bit shaky as she continues. “But that’s what makes him so brilliant. He’s got a gigantic heart, and he follows it.” There’s a few contented sighs, and Merlin spots Gwen wiping at her eyes. “I mean, I missed him loads when he decided he was going to travel, but he was following his heart. And I hope he continues to do that for the rest of his life.”

Morgana raises her glass. “To Arthur, and his bloody big heart!”

There’s a few shocked gasps at Morgana’s language, but the reaction is enormously positive. Everyone raises their glasses, many people clap, and a few people rise from their chairs to undoubtedly give Arthur a second round of congratulations, caught in the spirit of the moment. Someone shouts, “Hear, hear!” It sounds like Leon.

“Did you know you had to give a speech?” Merlin asks Morgana.

“No,” Morgana says casually, signaling the waiter for more wine.

Someone approaches Morgana’s table to compliment her on her speech, and Merlin waits for them to leave before leaning over and saying, “That was good.”

“I was blessed with many talents,” Morgana says, chin high as she occupies herself by cutting her chicken. “One of them is public speaking.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You meant it.”

Morgana scoffs. “It was a speech, Merlin. I said what needed to be said, and-”

“Spare me,” Merlin says, shaking his head and grinning. “You Pendragons…”

Freya gives a polite cough, magnified by her microphone, and all eyes go to her.

“That wasn’t the last speech, though it was lovely,” she says with a chuckle. “Next is Mr. Pendragon, the groom’s father.”

Merlin feels himself start to cringe before he checks the knee-jerk reaction. He exchanges a glance with Morgana, whose wide eyes suggest she’s thinking along the same lines as him. This _can’t_ be good.

“Arthur’s a smart man, as my daughter said.” Uther’s start seems virtually harmless- a compliment to Arthur is way better than Merlin expected- but Morgana sneers at Uther’s use of the word _daughter_. “He’s got a healthy mind, to match his, uh, _big heart_ , and it certainly would have been an asset to Pendragon Enterprises.”

At that, Merlin’s tempted to take a page out of Gwen’s book and bury his face in his hands. Worried, he sneaks a glance at Arthur. Arthur’s lips are pressed into a very thin line, almost invisible.

“Some people just never outgrow the adolescent desire to travel, explore the world, and all that. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have a head for business.” He shrugs indulgently, and to Merlin’s fury, a few of the older men in the room respond with nods.

“For a long time, I’ll admit, I was worried about him,” Uther goes on. “The arts, while they have their place in civilized culture, don’t put bread on the table.”

Arthur’s nostrils are flaring now. Alarmed, Merlin stares intently at Freya, shooting her messages with his eyes. _Stop this! Interrupt him! Make him sit down!_

But Freya gives a slight shrug and briefly splays her fingers, a gesture of helplessness. Merlin sighs, but he thinks he understands. Freya can’t cut off Uther, the groom’s father, as she did the bridesmaids.

“But Arthur’s choice of a bride has alleviated my worry,” Uther announces to the room. “Mithian is a beautiful, ideal bride, and I have no doubt that the two of them will be settling down before long.”

He smiles toothily before handing the microphone to Freya, to scattered applause.

Setting aside his utter contempt for Uther, Merlin seeks Arthur out again. Arthur doesn’t look angry anymore. He’s staring into his lap, blinking, jaw slack. He looks as like a little boy; like his disappointment disarmed him, robbed him of the adult rush of self-righteousness and anger.

In a wild moment of impulse, triggered perhaps by that forlorn look on Arthur’s face, Merlin stands up.

Freya notices this immediately, and _bless her_ , she understands, because she brings the microphone to her mouth and says, “Hold on, we’ve got one more speech: from the best man, Merlin Emrys.”

She sits down, and Merlin thinks he spots a smile curving her mouth.

“Hello.” Merlin surveys the expectant faces of the guests. Now that he’s standing, he realizes the pressure of the moment; he has to cover up for Uther, just as Morgana did for the bridesmaids. But, more importantly, he has to wipe any trace of sadness from Arthur’s face. He has to make him smile.

Merlin looks at Arthur. Arthur’s looked up from his lap, at least, and there’s a guarded sort of expectation in his eyes. Merlin reads this look for what it is- he wants to hope that Merlin’s going to say something pleasant, something that won’t tear him to shreds, but he’s afraid to. He’s afraid Merlin, too, will disappoint him. Merlin’s struck by an unbidden thought- _what has the world done to you?_ \- and his heart stops in his throat at the tragedy of it. But he knows what to say.

“In her fantastic speech, Morgana said that Arthur has a big heart,” Merlin starts, shooting her a small grin before facing the crowd again. “And he does. But before I get into him-” (he barely stops himself from blushing at his terminology) “- because that might take me awhile, since he’s my best friend, I’d like to take a moment to talk about Mithian.”

He sees Mithian’s eyes light up, and he’s hit by another wave of pity for her- because someone _else_ should be doing this, someone who knows her better, who can do her justice. “I’ve only met her this weekend, but I can already tell she’s very kind, very clever, very beautiful, and a wonderful person to know. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

It’s the truth, Merlin thinks- though he really hopes that guy _isn’t_ Arthur. “Now, Arthur. Morgana mentioned that he’s got room in his heart for everyone and everything, and that’s true. I have several stories that can testify to that.”

People respond positively to this, excitedly sitting up in their chairs and chuckling. Everyone loves anecdotes.

“I saw earlier that Mordred was here,” Merlin says, again acting on impulse. He spots Mordred a few tables over and lifts his hand in a small wave, which Mordred responds to, smiling broadly. “When I was at uni, I used to watch Arthur’s rugby team play. They were called the Knights-” Merlin pauses a few of said Knights- namely Gwaine, Percy, Leon, and Lance- raise a bit of a cheer for themselves. Arthur’s grin right then, to Merlin, is like the sun. “And I remember the day Mordred approached Arthur and asked to join. Arthur told him to come back a few days later, when they’d be holding tryouts, and Mordred did- and he blew them all away. He was so good. Arthur said he could definitely join, when Mordred confessed that he was too young to.”

Merlin can tell that the crowd is hanging on to his every word. “Arthur told him, begrudgingly, that he couldn’t join, then. But Mordred told Arthur how much playing meant to him, and he proceeded to show up to every match for like, a year…”

People laugh at this, and Merlin feels himself smiling, too. “Mordred was still too young, but Arthur could see how much it meant to him. So he figured out some convoluted way to allow Mordred to play, and I remember Arthur staying up nights to figure it out. _That’s_ how big his heart is… don’t worry, though, it was legal in the end.”

Mordred is nodding with a small smile on his face, confirming the story to everyone who looked at him. Again, Gwen looks misty-eyed.

“I have many other stories like that.” The words seem to be spilling from his mouth, spilling from some secret reserve inside him, where they’ve been waiting. “How Arthur threw a match against a guy who was his sworn enemy throughout all of university because his mother died the weekend of the game. How he kept a promise he made to Morgana when he was a teenager for years to come- that on her birthday, _every_ birthday, he’d be waiting with breakfast before she woke up so that he’d be the first person she saw on her birthday. That doesn’t mean they didn’t fight- they’re like any pair of siblings, bicker more than most, perhaps. But Arthur’s the kind of guy who has as much kindness as he has a sense of humor. Probably more.”

Merlin pauses to take a breath. The room is completely silent.

“Arthur’s just… he’s the kind of guy you’re lucky to have in your life. If you know him, you feel fortunate, and safer, somehow, in his company- protected. You look at him, and you think… ‘You know, I wanna stay on this planet.’” This is greeted with a few chuckles and assenting nods. “It’s not completely hopeless after all, if there’s people like Arthur here. I mean, he kept a watch I gave him _years_ ago, piece of rubbish really, because I bought it when I was a kid and it was way out of my price range. He’s wearing it now.”

A few people in the crowd crane their necks to see; and fuck him, he didn’t mean to say that. But now it’s out, and Arthur’s looking at him strangely- awash with tenderness, perhaps, or confusion.

“I’ve known Arthur for a long time, and I count myself lucky for every minute.” Merlin feels something swell in his throat- and he pushes it down, swallows it, furious with himself. “I may have been given the title of best man, but… _he_ is the best man. _He_ is. Arthur is.”

Merlin hasn’t yet put down the microphone when he’s overwhelmed by the amount of applause, applause he didn’t know could be generated from the small number in the room. It seems everyone is clapping, a great number of people are standing, and quite a few women are dabbing at their eyes with their napkins.

Merlin smiles, shocked and pleased. When Freya comes to take the microphone from him, Merlin isn’t expecting to find her eyes glistening, and isn’t expecting the way she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“What a wonderful speech,” Freya sniffles into the microphone. “Now, we’ve held your attention for long enough. Dig in!”

That’s exactly what people do. Merlin nearly relaxes back into his chair, knees suddenly rubbery. Gwaine and Lance reach over to pat him on the back, and Gwen’s got a trembling smile to match the tears in her eyes, and Morgana’s giving him a look that suggests deep approval. And that’s all well and good, but all Merlin _really_ cares about is-

“Merlin.”

Merlin turns, slowly, in his chair. Behind him, Arthur stands with his hands in his pockets, his gaze snapping quickly between Merlin’s face and his own shoes. Merlin is acutely aware of several pairs of eyes on him. “Yes?”

“Would you… like to dance?”

Heart rattling in his chest, Merlin does the only thing he _can_ do; he extends a hand to Arthur, palm up, an offer.

Arthur takes it.

If there weren’t eyes on them before, there definitely are now; Merlin feels their gazes burning holes through him as Arthur leads him to the dance floor. It doesn’t help that everyone’s enjoying their dinner, _seated_ , and so there’s only two other couples besides them.

But that quickly ceases to matter as Arthur draws him in, close, and Merlin’s acutely aware of his hand settling, gently, on the curve of his hip.

“What does this mean?” Merlin mumbles, then immediately regrets it; he doesn’t want to disrupt this moment before it’s even started. But Arthur’s looking at him, curiously.

“Did you say something, Merlin?”

“No,” Merlin says, then regrets it again. “I mean- yes. I’m wondering why you asked me to dance.”

Arthur tilts his head to the side, studying him. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“ _No_.” Merlin tries to push some firmness into his tone, but it sounds like barely a squeak to his ears. “I want you to say it.”

Arthur bites his lip and looks down, lids sweeping over his eyes, color creeping into his cheeks.

“I’m not a mind reader,” Merlin presses. “Does this mean you’re… changing your mind?”

“It means I’m sorry,” Arthur says, after a moment. “I’m sorry for acting the way I did. Especially when… that speech, Merlin. Thank you. None of it’s true, but-”

“It’s true,” Merlin interrupts. “You _did_ help out Mordred, and-”

“ _Factually_ , maybe. But I know you didn’t mean it, so thanks for saying it anyway-”

Merlin blinks, his hands moving away from Arthur of their own accord. “You thought I didn’t mean it?”

There must be something in Merlin’s face, in his eyes, something that makes Arthur blanch and reach for him with a renewed vigor, his fingertips digging into Merlin’s hips.

“ _No_! No, I didn’t mean it like that… fuck, can’t I say anything right?” Arthur laughs breathlessly, but his eyes are dark, and he looks far from happy. “What I meant was that I don’t feel like a particularly good guy right now. But I’m just grateful… so grateful to you...”

“You’re a good guy, Arthur,” Merlin says, and he doesn’t need to force conviction into his voice. “But do you know what your problem is?”

Arthur looks at him, face suddenly gone solemn. “Please tell me.”

“You have a good heart,” Merlin says. “But you’ve stopped following it.”

Arthur’s eyes turn downcast, and he seems to be processing this. After a while, his mouth twists into a wry smile.

Merlin opens his mouth, unsure of what he’s about to say- _Choose me! Marry me! -_ but knowing he has to say something. This is his chance, his last chance. “Arthur-”

But Arthur only tugs him closer, effectively cutting him off. Barely a breath separates them now, and Merlin tries not to focus on the line of Arthur’s body against his own.

“Can we just… dance? For now?”

Merlin swallows. It’d be so easy, _so_ easy, to let his mind rest, to slip into the familiarity of Arthur’s arms circling him, holding him, to the sway of their bodies.

“Do you promise?” Merlin finally says, throat dry. “Do you promise we’ll talk? Tonight?”

“Yes,” Arthur nods solemnly. “But for now, let’s just… have this moment. Something to remember.”

“Okay,” Merlin mumbles, giving in, trying not to think of how that last phrase sounded like a goodbye.

* * *

When Merlin returns to the table, Morgause is sitting there, alone.

Merlin signals the waiter for a drink, then falls against the back of his chair. Impossibly, he feels both entirely drained and completely buzzed; Arthur has that effect on him, he thinks wearily. He tries not to look at Arthur as the waiter brings him his drink- Arthur, who has finally decided to dance with his bride. Merlin takes a sip of his drink. All he wants to do is have that promised talk with Arthur, because he doesn’t think he can take the anticipation any longer.

“He’s looking at you.”

Merlin looks up, startled. It’s Morgause, inscrutable eyes on him.

“What?” Merlin says, surprised there’s no edge to her voice. It’s like he’s Morgana.

“ _Arthur_ ,” Morgause says impatiently, and her voice certainly has an edge now. She rolls her eyes. “He’s looking at you.”

Merlin has half a mind to tell her off for nosing in his private business, but he knows very well it was never really private; especially considering who his friends are. Besides- Merlin’s itching with curiosity to see if Morgause’s right, and quick glance confirms she is.

“Shit,” he says, a little breathless at the intensity of Arthur’s gaze. Morgause is still watching him as he takes another sip.

“So Arthur’s made his choice, then?”

“Sorry?”

Morgause lets out a tiny, impatient huff. “He’s choosing to keep Mithian in his arms, but keep his eyes on you?”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath, unsettled by the question that was more of a statement. It would be the most tragic end to the whole thing, with Merlin and Arthur both miserable. What _purpose_ would it serve? If Arthur stays with Mithian, he should at least do it because he loves her, because it would make him happy. But to choose Mithian while his heart is elsewhere… Merlin tries to tell himself it’s not going to happen, that Arthur’s smarter than that, but deep down he knows it’s the exact sort of dumb, noble thing Arthur would do.

“He’ll do the right thing,” Morgause says, as though reading his thoughts. Merlin wonders what that is. “Arthur’s that kind of guy.”

And Merlin knows. Merlin knows she’s saying he’s going to choose Mithian.

“How can he?” he says, astounded when the words escape without his permission, astounded that he’s confiding in Morgause, astounded at the roughness to his voice.

“Sometimes…” Moragause’s eyes drift to where Morgana’s spinning in Mordred’s arms. “Sometimes people don’t need you, the way you need them.”

Merlin feels a brief pang of sympathy for her, feels his yearning for Arthur returning tenfold. “What do you do?”

Morgause stands, then, and shoots someone across the hall a sultry smile. She takes a couple of steps from the table, then glances back at Merlin. “You let go.”

* * *

Merlin is _not_ drunk.

After the rehearsal dinner, Percy had suggested that the group go out for drinks. Almost everyone agreed immediately, and those that didn’t were drawn into it; namely Arthur, Mithian, and Merlin. Elena suggested the hotel bar, but Morgana discarded that idea.

"I know this place, Dixies," she said, employing the full force of her smile. "On Salvador Allende- not far. It's sort of an English hangout."

Nobody seemed to have any objections, and before Merlin realized it, he was being ushered into a bar. Merlin tried to seek out Arthur, but Arthur seemed to have developed a sudden proclivity for being otherwise engaged.

First, he was with Elena. The two of them sat together at the far end of the bar, and Merlin watched them, fuming.

“What’s got your knickers in a knot?” Morgana said, she and Gwen coming up next to him.

“Nothing,” he said, but the girls followed his line of sight.

“This is good,” Gwen said. “Elena has a way about her. She and Arthur have been friends since grade school… maybe she’s exactly what he needs!”

Soon, Merlin’s robbed of her company, as Lance whisks her away. Then Morgana struck up a conversation with a cousin of Mithian’s who tagged along, a woman with striking blue eyes. Merlin had just decided to approach Arthur, and was close enough to hear their conversation- “The arts? I’m a journalist… he doesn’t even know what I _do_ …” – when Gwaine accosted him, and by the time Merlin shook him off Arthur was talking with both Elena _and_ Percy.

The night wore off in the same fashion. Gwen and Lance remained huddled together in one corner of the large room, drinking and talking and laughing in a way that was privy only to the two of them. Gwaine, Freya, Percy, and Leon spent most of their time playing a rowdy card came at a table in the middle of the room. Elena and Mithian seemed to have struck up a friendship, for they sat in whispered conference for a long time, looking deep in conversation. Morgana didn’t move from Mithian’s cousin’s side. Arthur’s company changed- Elena, Percy, Leon, Gwaine, Leon again. But he was never alone, and Merlin wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but it seemed that Arthur was avoiding his gaze.

“Oh, who am I kidding?” Merlin mutters to himself, pushing his drink away from him with such force that it skitters across the wood of the bar and almost topples over. “Of course he’s avoiding me.”

Merlin sets a few bills on the bar table and walks out. He can walk back to the hotel. He’s not drunk, after all.

After a few minutes of walking, of the brisk air in his face, his head starts to clear. Merlin quickly discovers that this isn’t particularly a good thing as disappointment begins to register, closing over his heart. Arthur seems to have made his choice- and he didn’t have enough _respect_ for Merlin to tell him to his face. Instead, he chose to avoid him, like a child.

Well, Merlin doesn’t need to stand for it anymore, he thinks, trying to sound determined even in his own head. He’ll go to the hotel and pack his bags. He’ll leave tonight. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to watch the wedding-

“Merlin!”

Merlin jerks at the familiar voice, then turns to find, impossibly, a breathless Arthur chasing him down the street.

“Slow down,” Merlin says before he can stop himself, forgetting his resolve from mere seconds ago to stop caring about Arthur simply at the sight of his face. “You’ll puke.”

Arthur stops a mere foot from him, panting. “I didn’t drink too much. Reckon I’ll be okay.”

Merlin scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“Didn’t look like it.”

Arthur seems to be fighting an internal battle not to roll his eyes; and, of course, the innate prat within wins out. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’m an adult. I can hold my liquor.” Merlin eyes Arthur for a second, searching for something he doesn’t find, then starts to walk again. “Whatever. I don’t need this…”

“Wait, wait!”

Merlin feels Arthur’s hand brush his, then try to encircle his wrist, and Merlin draws back as though burned. The hurt look in Arthur’s eyes almost shocks him into contrition, but Merlin holds his ground.

“You promised,” he says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “You said we’d talk, and you know what, you had a three hour window at the bar there, and you chose not to take it. _I_ , on the other hand, _can take a hint_. So I’ll be leaving your life now. Goodbye.”

Merlin jerks away when Arthur reaches for him again, and again, and he doesn’t care that Arthur’s scrabbling for the slightest purchase, Merlin moves away and tries to ignore the way his heart breaks into shards of glass.

“ _Merlin!_ ”

Merlin doesn’t turn, doesn’t let a muscle indicate that he’s heard.

“Merlin, don’t you fucking walk away from me!”

Merlin pauses; then turns on his heel, mouth open in disbelief. “What- are you _serious_?”

“Dead serious,” Arthur says, and Merlin feels something bubble inside of him, something a lot like righteous anger.

“You entitled, arrogant, cruel _prat_!” Merlin’s fists involuntarily clench at his sides. “You’re the one getting married, you’re the one who couldn’t make a goddamn decision to spare both of us the fucking misery of being without you-”

“Merlin- you- you just showed up, okay, and fuck it’s been hectic and at the fitting you just asked me if I _love my bride_ , who _does_ that-”

“- and even now, after you’ve chosen, you don’t have big enough balls to tell me, no, you expect me to just watch you walk down the aisle and go back to London, quiet little Merlin who’ll just go back to the back burner, at your disposal for your midnight calls and to alleviate your spells of boredom, ready to cater to your every whim!”

Merlin comes to an abrupt halt, breathing hard, and he doesn’t notice he’s trembling until Arthur’s hand brushes his arm. He flinches, and hurt flashes in Arthur’s eyes.

“Merlin,” he says, quiet and serious. “I want you to listen to me.”

“No,” Merlin says, starting to turn away.

“I just want to-”

“ _No!_ ” Merlin pulls his arm away and glares at Arthur, feeling something dislodge in his chest. “Listening to you does no good. I didn’t imagine the moments we had this weekend, Arthur- on the boat, in the bar, at the boutique, and… every other _minute_! I didn’t imagine any of it. I know that you - you want me – you have feelings for me, maybe you even love me, because God knows I love you.”

Merlin chokes on the last word; he almost brings a hand to his mouth, stunned at his candor. He dares to take a look at Arthur. Arthur looks like he’s been kicked in the gut.

Merlin swallows and finishes it, finishes _them_. “You may want to lead this… lifestyle… running from everything, pleasing the wrong people, making yourself unhappy. But _I_ want a healthy relationship, a healthy life. I want to be happy. You made your choice. Let me make mine.”

“Merlin,” Arthur pleads, his voice breaking.

But Merlin turns away. He’s taken three steps when he feels Arthur’s hands close over his forearms, and the force of his grip tells Merlin he isn’t letting go anytime soon.

“Merlin.” The pleading note is gone from his voice, now. This is the authoritative Arthur, the Arthur who doesn’t leave room for alternatives. “I want you to listen. Hear what I have to say.”

His hands turn him around, and Merlin lets himself be malleable, knowing he can’t fight Arthur with his grip so tight. He’ll bide his time- and he won’t listen to what Arthur says. His words, now, won’t change a thing.

“Merlin, you’re… you’re the best person I’ve ever met.” Merlin resolutely doesn’t look at him, doesn’t indicate he’s even heard Arthur’s words. “And I know that sounds dumb and hollow after everything. I know it’s not enough. But… but you are. And I love every… everything about you. I love your kindness and your generosity and your dumb protectiveness. I love your messy hair and your bony knees. I love the way your eyelashes look when you look down- dark against your skin.” Merlin hears his audible swallow. “And I call you- I call you at midnight because I need you, because you’re _right_ , because I rot away without you, because you’re the best thing I’ve ever had in my life, you’re the best part of me, and I have-”

“This doesn’t help,” Merlin bursts out, his voice wobbling. “You’ve said all of this already.” He remembers scattered phrases from the weekend, kind words that felt as warm as melted butter. _You fixed me. I wanted to be yours. Only you._

“Merlin, I’m trying to tell you that-”

“Please….” Merlin cuts him off again. Merlin chances a glance at him; his eyes are dark blue and red-rimmed, and his mouth looks bitten and _damn him_ , why does he have to look so completely wonderful? “I can’t… I can’t listen to this. It makes it worse, makes it hurt even more. Please stop.”

“I meant every word,” Arthur says, with a vehemence as though swearing before a court of law.

“You _chose_ , alright?” The edges of Merlin’s vision go blurry, and he knows there’s tears in his eyes. “Just- leave me be, give me a chance to get over you.”

“ _No_ ,” Arthur says, a rough, guttural sound from the pit of him. “I won’t leave you- I didn’t choose-”

Arthur moves in, and the only warning Merlin has before Arthur crashes against him is the tightening of his grip on his forearms.

And then they’re- they’re _kissing_. Arthur’s mouth is firm on his, stealing his breath, and Merlin’s lips are unmoving, slack from surprise; and Arthur seems to misinterpret this, because he backs up, goes slower, his lips tentative at the corner of Merlin’s mouth, pressing butterfly kisses there, and then moving them slowly across the seam of Merlin’s lips, and _oh_ it feels so lovely, but then Arthur presses his tongue there, parting his lips, and Merlin gasps, and Arthur’s tongue spears him, and then they’re kissing _properly_ , deeper, and it’s all so- so overwhelming and _right_ and-

“Merlin.” It’s a breath from Arthur’s lungs that he shares with Merlin, dips into his lips, and Merlin swallows it and kisses him with twice the vigor as before, if that’s possible, and Merlin realizes dimly that his knees seem to be made of rubber and there’s something crawling underneath his skin, some warmth that’s found its way home again.

“Arthur,” Merlin presses his name to his skin, where the red of his mouth gives way to flushed cheeks, and Arthur responds by drawing his bottom lip between his teeth.

Merlin moans, and he doesn’t realize Arthur’s hands have come up to frame his face until he feels them by his hairline, stroking his temple with smooth, short strokes.

Reluctantly, Merlin opens his eyes.

Arthur’s a sight; lips kiss-swollen and parted, cheeks rosy, hair a mess. He makes sure Merlin’s looking, albeit through heavily lidded eyes, when he says, very clearly: “I choose you.”

* * *

When Arthur wakes, it is near morning.

Weak sunlight struggles to filter through the heavy curtains. Arthur eyes it with a fuzzy head, wondering why he feels so disoriented-

-and then it comes back to him, the drinking and the confrontation and the decision and the _kiss_ , and Arthur barely notices his hand reaching up to touch his lips.

As his head clears, he relives the memory over and over again, feeling _something_ surge through him; something bright and elated, something he hasn’t felt for a long time. He allows himself to revel in this feeling for several moments, before he considers Mithian.

He can tell she’s awake. He can tell she’s been awake for a long time.

Despite the decisiveness with which he’d told Merlin of his decision- and Arthur certainly _meant_ it- he feels apprehension and hesitation creep down his spine. He doesn’t want to hurt Mithian; but he knows he has to. He wonders why the hell it took him so long to realize what he wanted, why he had to wait to the very morning of their wedding. He’s handled it in the worst possible way.

“Arthur?”

Arthur knows there’s no point in pretending to be asleep. “Yeah?”

It’s a few moments before Mithian speaks, and Arthur almost turns over to look at her, but he isn’t quite ready to do that yet.

“Something’s different,” she finally says.

Arthur nods, even though she probably can’t see it. “I wanted to talk to you last night, but… you were asleep when I came in.”

“Yes,” she says. Her voice is eerily calm. “ _Is_ something different?”

Arthur wonders how to phrase it, how to put it in words that would make it okay. He knows it’s impossible- but is there a way for him to convey his regret, to convey that it was _his_ fault and his alone, that she was incredible, that she deserved someone who loved her, and he didn’t deserve her?

An odd thought hits him, a memory from a line of a long email Merlin once sent him. _You’re a lion among men._

So Arthur turns around, looking Mithian straight in the eye when he says, “I can’t marry you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very curious to hear what you think! I'm about to crash, so please leave me lovely comments + kudos to wake up to :)
> 
> Also, something fun! In a comment, or through a message, or through my tumblr (hisclotpole), ask me a random question about anyone or anything in the story. I've developed the characters a lot in totally irrelevant ways in my notes and I won't get to show most of it by the time we reach the end of the story, so I'd like to share the information with you this way. I'll gather the questions and post the answers with the next chapter. So excited to see your inquiries!

**Author's Note:**

> Will be continued! Please review.


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